


Things That Grow

by BeautifulWhale



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Belladonna and Bungo are only in the first chapter, Bilbo Baggins-Centric, Bilbo has vague magical powers, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Slow Burn, given to him by yavanna, no beta we die like men
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-13
Updated: 2019-10-03
Packaged: 2019-11-16 10:15:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 22,160
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18092399
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BeautifulWhale/pseuds/BeautifulWhale
Summary: Bilbo Baggins, blessed by Yavanna while still in his mother's womb, had a strong love for nature. With that love came the ability to make things grow, an ability that lent itself to many things: gardening, floristry, and unfortunately, adventuring.A re-telling of The Hobbit, but with a smidge more magic than is probably necessary.





	1. An Unexpected Visitor

**Author's Note:**

> This has been sitting in my drafts for years, literally. Figured I might actually try and finish it. I plan to update either every Tuesday or every other Tuesday, depending on how busy I get in the coming months. For now, enjoy!

In a hole in the ground there lived a hobbit. Not a nasty, dirty, wet hole, filled with the ends of worms and an oozy smell, nor yet a dry, bare, sandy hole with nothing in it to sit down on or to eat: it was a hobbit-hole, and that means comfort. The home of Belladonna and Bungo Baggins was one of the most comfortable hobbit holes of all. There was always a fresh pastry sat in the window, lovely scents wafting from the kitchen, and a spot of tea ready for the occasional weary traveler. And travelers, there were many. Much to the dismay of Bungo Baggins, Belladonna was of Took-ish descent. A Took would never turn away a hungry traveler. No matter how dirty, smelly, or disgusting they may seem.

The woman at their door was all three. Bungo tried very hard not to grimace as Belladonna led the traveler out of the pouring rain and into their home. Her wet, dirty cloak brushed against the arches of their hallways as she was steered towards the den. The woman hardly looked up as she passed through the smial, failing to see the numerous books and knick-knacks collected from the Baggins’ years together. She missed the various family portraits and beautiful scenic paintings along with the few treasures that Belladonna had collected over the course of her travels.

“You’ll have to forgive the mess,” Belladonna muttered, pulling various fabrics and clothes off one of the chairs, “ You caught us in the middle of some spring cleaning. Oh, where are my manners; would you care for a cup of tea?” She looked expectantly at the traveler. 

“Tea would be nice if it’s not too much trouble,” She spoke from under her hood. Bungo was surprised by her voice, as it was melodious and oddly pleasing.

Belladonna gestured to the chair, “Of course, you poor thing. No trouble at all,” The young hobbit pulled their ottoman forward, “Sit, rest your feet. I’ll have supper for you in just a moment.”

“Thank you.” 

Again, that beautiful, comforting voice. It seemed to fill the room with warmth. Bungo was intrigued. His wife may have been the more ‘adventurous’ between the two, but he could not deny his curiosity in regards to the dirty stranger’s presence. As Belladonna left to fetch the woman some tea, he wearily crept towards the hearth. He moved as delicately as he could, careful not to spook the woman, and sat down in the armchair opposite of her. “Are you alright, miss?” 

She made no move to remove her hood, nor did she answer Bungo’s question. Instead, she spoke softly, “Thank you both for your hospitality. I find the company of hobbits to be strange, yet comforting.” Bungo nodded in an attempt to disguise how the non-answer only strengthened his curiosity. He traced his eyes over the runes and designs that covered her cloak, but he could not decipher them. His eyes flicked to her pack as it rested by her feet, but it was cinched tight and there were no hints as to what may be inside. He slouched down in an attempt to get a good look at her face, but the shadow her hood cast was too dark. 

“Well, you’re welcome to stay as long as you need,” Bungo found himself saying, much against his own sense. He wanted to snatch the words back from where they hung in the air and stuff them back into his mouth, but it was too late. The woman did not say anything to the extended invitation, but Bungo was sure he caught a flash of a smile beneath her hood.

Before silence could settle between them, Belladonna whisked into the room carrying a tray full of freshly-baked rolls and three cups of tea. She smiled as she passed out the cups and set the rolls down on an end table close to their unexpected guest, “Help yourself, dear, and don’t worry about leaving any for us.” The woman was hesitant, but after Belladonna gave her an encouraging look, she plucked a roll from the top of the pile and began to eat. Bungo wanted to protest against such generosity, despite the offer he had just made the woman, but he could not bring himself to do so. 

Next to Bungo, sat on their rug, Belladonna eagerly watched the woman eat. She was practically vibrating beside him. It had been a good few years before anything exciting had stumbled upon their doorstep. As they grew older, Bungo was relieved to find that excitement found him and his wife less and less. He knew Belladonna was happy to grow old with him inside their home, but he also knew that excitement and adventure were in her blood. 

“I must say, you were quite the surprise on a stormy night like this. You won’t often find travelers out and about when the rain comes, especially in the Shire,” Belladonna leaned forward and fake-whispered, “We have a reputation for not being overly fond of strangers.” She grinned.

The woman let out a small chuckle, “Then you two must be different from most. Congratulations, by the way,” she gestured to Belladonna. 

Bungo sat up straight, as did Belladonna. They both spoke at the same time, “What do you mean?”

“You’re with child.”

Bungo’s heart sank into his stomach like a stone in the Brandywine. He fell back into his chair and felt his breath punch his lungs. Surely the woman was joking or playing some sort of prank. She could be in league with Gandalf. No doubt this was something that the wizard would find entirely amusing. Though it seemed rather cruel, even for the meddling wizard.

Belladonna shot upright like a whizzpopper and pressed a hand to her stomach. She looked at the strange woman with wide eyes and a slack jaw, “Are you sure?”

The woman nodded and leaned back into her chair, “As certain as the sun, my dear.”

Belladonna squealed and turned to Bungo, “Oh, darling, did you hear that?”

“I heard,” he mumbled, his eyes nearly popping out of his head. His heart had officially passed his stomach and was well on its way to his feet. 

She threw herself into his lap and peppered his face with kisses, “How exciting! A child, finally. Soon our home will be filled with the pitter-patter of little hobbit feet, oh I can’t wait.” Belladonna wrapped her arms around Bungo’s neck and smushed her cheek to his. It took a moment, but once his heart clawed it's way back into his chest, Bungo returned her embrace. A laugh bubbled out of him as he pressed his lips to hers.

“A child,” he sighed, resting his forehead to hers, “Finally.”

In front of them, the strange woman stood. She set down her empty cup and brushed away the few crumbs that found their way onto her cloak, “I see you two have much to celebrate. I’ll be on my way, then. Thank you for the meal.”

Bungo had no problem letting the stranger leave their home, but Belladonna made a noise of distress, “You can’t go out their, miss, you’ll catch your death. Stay the night, please,” she looked at Bungo and smiled, “It’s the least we can offer to the woman who delivered such a wonderful surprise.”

The woman paused at Belladonna’s words. She made no move to sit down, nor did she start towards the door. Instead, she removed her cloak. The room was instantly filled with the feeling of a warm, spring day. She revealed a dress made of moss-green fabric and silver. On her head, she wore a golden circlet covered in designs similar to her cloak. Her hair was a river of intricate braids interwoven with various plants and flowers. Her complexion was flawless and her piercing eyes seemed to sparkle with every color. She had grown taller as well, her new height forcing her to crouch slightly.

Bungo and Belladonna gaped openly at the woman, her good news all but forgotten in the wake of her reveal. Both hobbits were unable to look away from the woman that had shown herself to them. She moved around their home with a renewed energy, taking note of all the small thing she missed upon entry. He fingers brushed against the portrait of Bungo’s mother hanging above their fireplace, “In all my years, I have never encountered life as pleasant as hobbits,” she smiled at her gobsmacked hosts and continued, “Your love of home above all else is admirable. Nowhere other than the Shire would you find more humble, noble creatures.”

She knelt down in front of Belladonna. Bungo had half a mind to throw himself between the two, but the women's presence paralyzed him. He watched with wide eyes as she pressed her large hand to Belladonna’s stomach. She spoke, her voice thick with emotion, “Your child will grow with my blessing. He will be protected by my power and where there is green, he will find strength. This I swear to you, Belladonna and Bungo Baggins.”

A sudden breeze blew in from nowhere and everywhere all at once. It blew out every fire in the home, candle and hearth alike. Papers were thrown through the air and various trinkets were knocked from their shelves. Before Belladonna or Bungo could do so much as scream, the breeze was gone along with every trace of the mysterious woman. Their candles relit themselves, along with their fireplace. All of the papers that had been scattered were back in place. Every trinket was resting still on its shelf. Bungo searched every inch of their home, but there was nothing. She had vanished into thin air, just as it seemed. 

It took both Belladonna and Bungo hours to settle into bed that night. They both lay beside each other, too shocked by the evening’s display to do much of anything. After hours of lying next to each other in silence, Belladonna’s hand found its way into Bungo’s and she squeezed. Bungo turned to see her smiling at him, “We’re going to have a baby, Bungo.” He smiled and squeezed back.

Nine months later, Belladonna gave birth to a healthy child she lovingly named ‘Bilbo’. Together, she and Bungo raised him. They watched him grow, all the while remembering the blessings of a mysterious woman who lost her way in the Shire one stormy night.


	2. A Stranger with a Strange Offer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bilbo was not as fond of strangers as his mother had been, especially when they come offering such wild things like adventures.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's another chapter because fuck a regular updating schedule, amirite? All jokes aside, I will be sticking to updating on Tuesdays from now on. I was just so excited about continuing this story that I wanted to give it a bit of a head start. Plus, I wanted to introduce Bilbo because, well, the story is about him.
> 
> Please please PLEASE leave a comment. I want to hear what you think!

If Bilbo Baggins was forced to pick a favorite season, he would say it was spring. All of the seasons had their charm, there was no doubting that. With summer came long days and festivals. The season was an endless stream of weddings and celebrations. With autumn came the harvest. All of the hard work in his garden paid off in enough vegetables to feed every Took in the Shire. With winter came the distant beauty of snow. Winter, admittingly, was his least favorite season. He grew weaker as the nights grew longer and the cold settled in, as all life seemed to fade in the Shire during winter.

With spring, however, came green. Where there was green, Bilbo found peace.

He was enjoying such peace paired with some pipeweed one morning on the bench in front of his home when a wandering stranger made his way up the path. Bilbo did not bear the same disposition as his mother did in regards to strangers. While he was never unkind, he had been raised to be wary of them. It was almost impossible to know their intentions until it was too late and Bilbo had a secret that was too important to risk, for he had been born with a gift.

His mother used to tell him stories of the woman who bestowed her blessing on him when he was still in her womb. She would speak of her melodious voice and her beautiful figure; how she moved about their house with grace and infinite wisdom. His father would always interrupt, telling Bilbo of how her sudden, mysterious appearance and subsequent disappearance had left them both speechless. Neither of them had known what she meant when she bestowed her blessing upon their child, but they learned soon enough. 

The year that Bilbo was born, the Shire had the largest harvest it had ever seen. Belladonna and Bungo thought it was a fluke and that they were silly to think otherwise. They changed their minds when Bilbo first set foot outside. A trail of flowers bloomed behind their child as he ran stumbling through the hills of the Shire. The sight was absurd, but it had enlightened Bilbo’s parents. Belladonna’s flowers never wilted, Bungo’s tomatoes never spoiled. The mysterious woman had blessed Bilbo so that nature itself would bend to his will. 

As he grew older, Bilbo learned that was not quite the case. While flowers seemed to bloom under his touch and his garden continued to produce award-winning tomatoes, they still wilted and died with the season, as everything was meant to. Nature was perfectly balanced. No power gifted by a mysterious woman could ever do much to disrupt that balance. Still, Bilbo’s thumb was greener than what may be considered normal. 

The hobbits of the Shire were superstitious and skeptical of unusual folk. His mother and father had urged him to keep it secret. They knew that there were many people who would go to great lengths to harness his ability to make things grow, or there were many people who would shun such an unnatural trait. Belladonna and Bungo had kept it a secret best they could, doing their part to help Bilbo control his ability and hide it from their prying relatives. 

Prying relatives and curious wizards.

“Good morning,” Bilbo eyed the figure in front of him wearily. The man was clearly a wizard of some sort, from his draping cloak and twisted staff to his pointed hat and old, knowledgeable eyes. He gave Bilbo a critical once-over before responding to the hobbit’s greeting in a way that was entirely too confusing. It left Bilbo dizzy and unsure. When the wizard gave him an expectant look, he frowned and muttered, “All of them at once, I suppose. Can I help you?”

The wizard hummed, “That remains to be seen.”

While the wizard seemingly contemplated his very existence in front of the hobbit’s home, Bilbo closed his eyes and focused on the ground beneath his feet. He took a long drag from his pipe and blew a thick smoke ring into the air. Under his feet, he imagined small blue and golden flowers sprouting between the blades of grass. After a moment, he felt their soft petals brush against his soles. It felt good to exercise his ability, even on such a small scale. Bilbo willed them away as quick as they came, for he did not want to chance the wizard catching a glimpse of the flowers. 

“I am looking for someone to share in an adventure.”

Bilbo’s eyes flew open. The wizard was smiling at him, kind but a bit mischievous as well. Bilbo paled. He had to be mad to be looking for a traveling companion in the Shire. There was no doubt that no hobbit less than a full-blooded Took would even consider adventuring with a wizard. Unless, of course, he was looking for a particular hobbit. It was too much of a coincidence that he would come looking for a random adventurer on Bilbo’s doorstep, of all the doorsteps in the Shire. The wizard must have been here for him specifically and that gave the hobbit enough cause to leave. 

He stood up and shook his head, “Nope, absolutely not. Adventures are nasty, disturbing, uncomfortable things. Make you late for dinner. You’ll have better luck looking in Bree. Good morning.”

“To think I should have lived to be 'good morning'ed by Belladonna Took’s son. You have changed, Bilbo Baggins,” The wizard muttered gruffly. He rested himself against his staff. The look he gave the hobbit was stern enough to shame even the most unruly children.

The mention of his mother’s name as well as his own caused Bilbo great concern, “Do I know you?”

“I am Gandalf and Gandalf means, well, me,” The wizard gestured to himself. 

All at once Bilbo’s memories seemed to click into place. He could picture the bright, booming fireworks on Midsummer’s Eve, clutching to his mother’s skirt as she laughed. In his memory was a tall, friendly figure, lighting the fireworks and laughing as they spread across the sky. Bilbo matched the figure to the wizard standing in front of him and scoffed, “I had no idea you were still in business.”

“And where else should I be?” he frowned. Bilbo opened his mouth to respond and took a drag of his pipeweed instead. He figured it best not to insult a wizard, no matter how unintentional the insult may have been. Gandalf stared at him for a moment before sighing, “Well, it’s decided then. It’ll be very good for you and most amusing for me. I shall inform the others.” With that, the wizard turned to continue his trek along the path.

Bilbo squawked in indignation at the wizard’s conclusion, “No. No. No. We do not want any adventures here, thank you! Not today. Good Morning.” Bilbo grabbed his mail and made for his front door. He slammed it behind him and leaned against it, crossing his arms. There was no way he was going to let some confounded wizard drag him into an adventure, not when he worked so hard to keep his blessings a secret. 

He had no doubt Gandalf was aware of his unique ability. How he came to learn of it was unclear, but that did not matter. What mattered was staying away from wizards and adventures. He had meant it when he said that they were nasty things. His mother always spoke fondly of her own, but Bilbo was more inclined to take after his father. Being married to Belladonna Took had been enough adventure for him and being her son was enough for Bilbo. (Not to mention he had been blessed by the Valar before birth. That had been enough of an adventure and he didn’t even directly take part in it!)

Bilbo sighed and rested his head against his door. Before he could take another breath, a soft scraping sound sent a tingle up his spine. It was so quiet is could be mistaken for passing wind, but Bilbo was familiar with the winds of spring and this was no light breeze. He felt himself stiffen like a rabbit caught in a garden. When he went to look out the window for the source, he was met with Gandalf’s distorted face in the glass. He shrieked and lept back before fleeing further into his home. 

“ _What has you so troubled, child?_ ” A concerned voice from inside Bilbo’s head whispered. Its gentle tone quelled his beating heart. 

While his parents may not have known the woman who blessed Bilbo before he was yet a child, he had come to know her quite well. Yavanna was a near-constant presence in the back of his mind and had been for as long as he could remember. Bilbo often thought fondly of her first words to him. During his youth, surrounded by nothing but green grass for miles, she had whispered a low _‘hello’_. While her presence caused him great concern at first, Bilbo soon grew used to her company. 

There were many moments in his childhood that were accompanied by her soft narration. The most notable in Bilbo’s mind was the Fell Winter. He had grown worryingly sick. His parents were at the end of their rope, having done everything they could to heal their son to no avail. Bilbo did not remember much of it, but he remembered Yavanna’s words in the back of his mind, a small mantra, _‘You will live, child. You will live.’_

Not only was she a good companion, but a good teacher as well. Yavanna was a guiding voice on the winding path to figuring out his gifts. Combined with his parent’s support, her guidance proved to be a useful tool in mastering his abilities. Those same abilities that seemed to be getting him into trouble with a wizard. He frowned and spoke, “I have reason to believe that Gandalf knows of my, uh, gifts, as it were.”

“ _Mithrandir does not know, child. He is seeking you out simply because you are Belladonna’s son. He trusted her and so he trusts you._ ” She did her best to soothe his worries. While her assurances calmed the immediate panic in Bilbo’s mind, he was still distraught at the idea of Gandalf deeming him fit for an adventure of any kind. Even if he had desired to go on such an adventure, which he most certainly did not, it would be too much of a risk.

“Regardless,” Bilbo shook his head, “I will not be participating in any adventures. Gandalf will have to look somewhere else!” He declared. Bilbo stuffed his hands into his pockets and made an attempt to continue on with his day. He had errands to run and wizards to forget.

“ _Hmmm, we shall see_ ,” Yavanna hummed. Her tone sounded almost playful. Bilbo dreaded what that meant for him. Maybe when he was in his youth Bilbo would have jumped at the chance to go galavanting off to some faraway place with a wizard. He was not so young anymore. No, Bilbo had grown into a most respectable hobbit, despite his unique ability and he would not throw that respectability away at the mere mention of an adventure.

Bilbo busied himself with his work. In truth, he was not the most hardworking hobbit in the Shire. His mother had left him with a decent inheritance that meant he would never have to ‘work’ a day in his life. That did not sit well with Bilbo as he often grew bored staring at the walls of his own home. So he spent his days wandering the Shire. Bilbo greeted his neighbors and any friendly face that passed by. He took his time in the marketplace, looking over various produce. Yavanna chastised him for willing certain fruits to grow a little riper, but he ignored her criticism. No hobbit deserved underripe fruit, except maybe Lobelia. 

As the sun began to set and he found his way back home, Bilbo had almost entirely forgotten about the wizard at his doorstep and his not at all enticing offer of adventure.


	3. Unruly Guests and a Dangerous Quest

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bilbo should have seen the wizard for what he was: an omen. Disaster was about to strike Bag End in the form of a company of dwarves.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Excuse me while I attempt to DOUBLE my word count with this chapter. I glazed over the introduction of (most of) the company in this chapter because we all know how it goes and I didn't feel like rewriting the dwarves' arrival when I wasn't going to change anything. It is at this point that I would like to stress that this entire thing is written and edited by me, so I apologize for any grammatical errors or huge oversights.
> 
> Thank you for reading and a BIG thank you to those who have latched on to this little story. I eagerly await your comments!

Dwarves. There were dwarves in his kitchen. In his pantry. In his bathrooms, spare bedrooms, all over. Every nook and cranny in his home seemed to be filled with dwarves and at the center of it all was Gandalf, looking far more smug than he had any right to be. Bilbo could barely hear Yavanna’s soft chuckles in his own head over the great disaster symphony that was taking place in his home. He felt he might explode from anger alone, “Confusticate and bebother these dwarves!”

Gandalf stood beside him, his eyes never leaving their rambunctious guests, and tutted, “My dear Bilbo, what on earth is the matter?”

“What’s the matter? I’m surrounded by dwarves.” Dwarves he did not invite in. His home was filled with strangers and the mere sight was threatening to stop his heart right then and there. Bag End was meant to be a safe place where Bilbo could relax without the threat of his secret being revealed. Having a house full of strange dwarves and a wizard was not conducive to such relaxation. He whined to Gandalf, “I don’t understand what they’re doing in my house!”

The wizard only chuckled, “Why, they’re quite a merry gathering.”

In Bilbo’s destroyed kitchen, the dwarves began throwing his mother’s Westfarthing pottery around like the precious plates were juggling balls. All around the room, his china sailed through the air, much to Bilbo’s dismay, while they all sang joyously. The urge to chase them all out with a broom grew stronger as their singing grew louder. In his head, Yavanna laughed, “ _Mithrandir is right. They are a merry gathering._ ”

“That is enough from you, I think,” he hissed through gritted teeth. Gandalf gave him a strange look, but he must have assumed the hobbit’s muttering was about the aforementioned dwarves, nothing more. Bilbo bit his tongue. He couldn’t go around talking to the voice in his head when his home was filled to the brim with people. Silently, he pled that Yavanna would stay quiet for the remainder of the evening if only to save his own sanity. The last thing he needed was Gandalf thinking he’d gone mad. 

Bilbo sighed and look towards his front door, “I think I need some air.” Sitting in the chilly night with green grass under his feet would do him well. He hurried out of Bag End without another word to Gandalf. Bilbo figured that any damage that could or would be done to his home had been done already and the wizard would be able to reel in his unruly guests if things grew out of hand.

Once he was outside, the hobbit practically threw himself onto his front bench. He laid down on his back and stared up into the dark night. His hand lazily brushed through the grass, willing the blades to curl themselves around his fingertips. Bilbo sighed and let his gift flow freely. The vines on his fence grew thicker and the moss on the foot of his bench spread. His flowers swayed in a nonexistent breeze. He took a deep breath and felt at peace for the first time since the dwarves had arrived.

Yavanna’s voice echoed through his head like shattering glass, “ _Eyes up, child. Here comes another._ ” Bilbo bolted upright. He reeled in his power immediately. The vines stopped growing, along with the moss and his flowers went still. Very quickly he whipped out his pipe in an attempt to look nonchalant. 

Yet another dwarf made his way along the path, though this one was different from the others. He had the same gruff demeanor and Bilbo was sure the dwarf was armed to the teeth, but there was something else about him. His shoulders were heavy and tired. As he looked around at the Shire, there was a sense of jaded longing in his stare. His melancholy gaze fell upon hobbit hole after hobbit hole, lit with candlelight and echoing with the sound of laughter. 

When the dwarf realized that he had been spotted, all of the emotion slipped from his face. He straightened his shoulders as he approached and gave Bilbo a disinterested stare, “So, you are the hobbit.”

“Well, there are many hobbits here, being that you are in the Shire,” Bilbo sniffed and tucked his hands into the pockets of his robe. His father was rolling in his grave at Bilbo’s tone, to be sure, but he was over being polite to unwelcome guests, “If you are questioning whether I am the hobbit with a home full of rowdy dwarves and an annoying wizard, then yes. I am that hobbit.”

The dwarf didn't say anything. He arched his brows and continued to stand in a rather menacing manner on Bilbo’s doorstep. In the corner of his mouth, his lips quirked in an almost amused smile.

Bilbo gave the dwarf a tight smile and gestured to the door, “Your companions are inside, tearing apart my larder. You are welcome, of course, because what’s one more dwarf when my home is already stuffed with them.” Yavanna snickered in his head and he had to fight the urge to shush her. The dwarf had schooled his expression into the same disinterested look he had given Bilbo before, but his blue eyes seemed to be brighter and touched with a little bit of mirth. 

The hobbit’s smile loosened and turned into something more genuine. He shared an amicable silence with the dwarf for a moment before a voice much like Gandalf’s echoed from inside, “Where on earth is Thorin Oakenshield?”

Any trace of peace that had been on the dwarf’s face vanished at the sound of the wizard. His spine tightened. The muscles in his neck tensed and his face soured as if he had bitten straight into a lemon. He looked Bilbo up and down once before walking up the path towards his door, “You best come inside, halfling. We’ve much to discuss.” Without another word he threw the door to Bag End wide open and stepped inside.

“ _Oakenshield. Where have I heard that name before?_ ” Yavanna questioned before fading into a bubble of intelligible murmurs in the back of his mind. Bilbo sighed and stood up from his bench. He tucked his pipe away, having not even lit the damn thing, and made his way into his home. When he snuck back inside, he was greeted by a rather tense conversation between Gandalf and the newly arrived Thorin Oakenshield, neither of which had noticed him.

“It’s all very well for you to speak of how fierce he is, but the halfling looks more like a grocer than a burglar.” Bilbo tried hard not to be offended by the truth of the comment. The dwarf’s features grew stonier as he continued, “Has he any experience with fighting? Swords or axes?” 

The answer to both questions was no and Bilbo was almost certain the wizard knew that. When Gandalf said nothing, Thorin snorted and shook his head. His gaze fell to Bilbo for a moment before he turned from them both and continued further into Bag End. Gandalf huffed and followed him, as did the hobbit, “I assure you, Master Oakenshield, Bilbo will be a great asset for you on your quest.”

“I have doubts, Gandalf.”

Bilbo’s temper flared. He may have no experience with swords or axes and he had no idea what Thorin meant when he called him a burglar, but that did not mean he was unfit for whatever quest they were about to embark on. Gandalf had chosen him over anyone else. He had no desire to join them on their adventure, but if he did he most certainly would be the best hobbit to ask, not even factoring in his abilities, which gave him even more of an advantage. These dwarves could not find a better hobbit suited for adventuring if they tried. 

“ _Careful, child. If you keep thinking like that, you may talk yourself into this adventure yet_ ,” Yavanna whispered in a conspiratorial manner. Bilbo wanted to roll his eyes at her, but he feared she may be right. The urge to follow these ridiculous dwarves into whatever trouble they were looking for grew stronger and stronger the more they insisted he was not the man for the job.

The company found themselves seated at Bilbo’s kitchen table once more. Any trace of the mess that was made earlier in the evening had vanished completely. The dwarf that had introduced himself as Dwalin set down a bowl of food in front of Thorin and nodded, “Shall we begin, then?”

“We shall,” Thorin responded. He took a deep breath before addressing his fellow dwarves, “Our kin will not come. They say our quest is ours and ours alone.” Dwalin slammed his fist on the table. The brothers, Fíli and Kíli, looked between one another before turning back towards Thorin with a sorrowful expression. Each dwarf seemed to be in varying states of disgruntlement and reproach. Gandalf’s expression was blank as he chewed on the end of his pipe, seemingly lost in thought. 

Balin sighed, “The task would be difficult enough with an army behind us, but we number only 13,” He looked around the table and shook his head, “and not 13 of the best, nor brightest.”

Fíli stood up, “But we’re fighters, every one of us!” He looked straight at Thorin, who gave the dwarf a proud nod. 

“Plus,” Kíli stood next to his brother and grinned wildly, “You forget we have a wizard in our company. Gandalf will have killed hundreds of dragons in his time.”

“Wait, dragons?” Bilbo questioned, but it was drowned out by the dwarves tripping over themselves to interrogate Gandalf, who looked much like a cat whose nap had been disturbed. Bilbo’s mind began to race. What on earth did 13 dwarves think they were going to do against a dragon, wizard or no? What were they doing fighting a dragon in the first place!? It was then decided for Bilbo. No matter what silly thoughts he may have been entertaining before, he most certainly was not going to risk his life against a dragon for a handful of dwarves who didn’t think he was any good. 

Amidst all the yelling, Yavanna also came to a revelation, “ _They are going to try and reclaim Erebor. Oh, Mithrandir, what are you doing?_ ” She questioned, her voice filled with disbelief. Bilbo wanted to ask what exactly Erebor was and why it was worth confronting a dragon over, but he had already decided he wasn’t going on their ridiculous quest anyways, so it hardly mattered. 

All the shouting was stopped by Thorin, “Smaug has not been seen for 60 years. If we have read the signs, do you not think others have as well? I will not sit idly while others claim what is rightfully ours.” His fists were clenched above the table. He sat straight in his chair with his shoulders back. There was a fierce glint of determination in his eyes as he stared at each of the dwarves, all of whom seemed inspired by his declaration.

All except Balin, who did not look convinced in the slightest, “You forget the front gate is sealed. There is no way in the mountain.”

“That may not be entirely true,” Gandalf spoke from his seat in the corner. He pulled a key from his robe, along with a map. The key was passed over to Thorin, who looked both surprised and enraged that Gandalf has such a thing in the first place, and the map was unfolded on Bilbo’s table, “These runes speak of a secret passage to the lower halls. Where, exactly, is hidden somewhere on this map and I do not have the skills to find it, but there are others in Middle-earth who can.” He glanced at Thorin before addressing the full company, “The task I have in mind will require a great deal of stealth and no small amount of courage. But if we are careful and clever, I believe it can be done.” 

“That’s why we need a burglar,” Ori piped up, smiling. 

Everyone in the kitchen, dwarves and wizard alike, turned to Bilbo. The hobbit stared back with wide eyes as he realized that when they said ‘burglar’, they meant him. He blinked at the company for a few moments before blurting out, “I’m not a burglar!”

“I’m afraid I have to agree with Master Baggins,” Balin nodded his head solemnly, “He’s hardly burglar material.” Bilbo gritted his teeth to stop himself from protesting. He could burgle something if he wanted to, but that was not the point. Instead, he nodded along.

“Aye, the Wild is no place for gentlefolk who can neither fight nor fend for themselves,” Dwalin grumbled. Bilbo chewed the inside of his cheek. He was almost positive he could defend himself if it came to such a thing, but he didn’t argue. It was better if the dwarves convinced themselves that he was just some small, shivering thing. He’s almost sure he’d rather they think him unfit of this quest then attempt to drag him along. Almost.

“Enough!” A shadow swept over Bag End as Gandalf shouted over the bickering dwarves, “If I say Bilbo Baggins is a burglar, then a burglar he is.” Once he had succeeded in gathering their attention, the shadow receded. The wizard looked pointedly at Thorin, “You asked me to find the 14th member of your company and I have chosen Master Baggins. Hobbits are remarkably light on their feet and can pass unseen by most if they so choose.”

It was hard to argue with such a display, Bilbo had to admit. Thorin seemed to agree. He sighed, “Very well, Gandalf. We will do it your way. Balin, give him the contract.”

The contract was as tall as Bilbo was. He scanned the words carefully. Yavanna read along with him and hummed at various points, but otherwise did not comment. Bilbo felt himself grow more and more lightheaded. The terms were fair enough, but far too detailed in their description of what would happen to Bilbo should this ‘Smaug’ so happened to still be living when they arrived at the mountain. 

Without a word, Bilbo turned from his guests and fled to the sitting room. He flung himself into his father’s chair and let out a deep sigh. The sheer amount of information to take in had him feeling woozy.

Gandalf seemed to be the only one who cared enough to follow him. The wizard sat down in his mother’s chair and pulled out his pipe, “I remember a young hobbit who was always running off in search of elves in the woods; who would stay out late and come home after dark, trailing mud and twigs and fireflies. You’ve grown bored among your books, Bilbo Baggins,” Gandalf chastised him. He gestured to the paper in Bilbo’s hand, “This is an opportunity to see the world. I imagine you’ll have enough stories to fill a book of your own when you come back.”

The story he spun was tempting. Bilbo could only imagine how his mother would react to such an offer. If she were here, she’d be shoving him out the door, pack in hand. Her Tookish nature always outshined any respectability she may have garnered with age. He had grown up with tales of her trips to Rivendell and all of the interesting characters she had met along the way. She would always end her stories by promising Bilbo he’d have adventures of his own one day.

He looked once more at the contract. His eyes caught on the word ‘dragonfire’ near the bottom, only a few lines above where he was meant to sign his name. If what the dwarves and Gandalf were saying was true, then their adventure would put him face to face with a dragon. He idly wondered how his mother would react to that. Bilbo turned his gaze to Gandalf, “Can you promise I will come back?”

“No,” the wizard hummed. He watched Bilbo, his eyes narrowed, “And if you do, you will not be the same.”

“That’s what I thought. I’m sorry, Gandalf. I can’t sign this,” Bilbo very gently handed the contract to Gandalf. He stood up and walked out of the room. It caught the attention of the dwarves in the kitchen, most of whom tried very hard to make it look like they hadn’t been listening. All of them avoided looking directly at him except for Thorin, who met his eyes with a cold, resigned gaze. Bilbo averted his eyes immediately and practically sprinted down the hall towards his bedroom.

With the door firmly shut behind him, he slid to the floor. The events of the evening caught up to him all at once. His limbs felt heavy and his eyelids drooped more and more with every passing minute. After giving himself a moment to breathe, Bilbo began prepping for bed. He carefully avoided any thoughts about quests or dwarves or incineration via dragonfire as he moved about his room. 

It was a few minutes before he realized Yavanna had yet to say anything. Bilbo prepared himself for whatever wisdom she was about to impart on him and spoke, “I’m surprised with how little you have to say about this.”

Yavanna responded immediately, “ _I’m not sure what you want me to say, child. You made it clear to Mithrandir that you were not going. What else is there to discuss?_ ” She hummed, her voice betraying no emotion.

Bilbo tapped his toes on the floorboards. He should have expected such a non-answer. Though she had never been shy about expressing her opinion, Yavanna always made an effort to allow Bilbo to formulate his own thoughts. However, his current thoughts were a jumbled mess and it would do him well to hear something else, “Well, do you think I should go?”

“ _I think what this company of dwarves is doing is right, if a little misguided,_ ” she chuckled before growing serious once more, “ _I think you would be a great asset not only during their journey but after as well. But it doesn’t really matter what I think, does it?_ ”

Her response only served to jumble his thoughts even more. When she made no further attempt to explain exactly what she meant, he sighed and resigned himself to not knowing. Instead, he thought of the company sitting in his kitchen, grumbling over the logistics of purging a mountain of a dragon. A dragon, for Eru’s sake! Gandalf, a man who was practically a stranger to Bilbo, truly had no business asking him to get involved in such nonsense.

He also thought of Thorin, who was as much of a stranger to Bilbo as Gandalf was. He thought of his tired shoulders and the mournful look he gave the homes he passed as he marched through the Shire. He thought of the determination in his voice when he spoke of reclamation and how effortlessly he rallied his fellow dwarves. He thought of the resigned glare that he gave Bilbo when the hobbit declared he would not go. 

He continued to think as he crawled into bed. A deep song echoed from down the hall as Bilbo tucked himself under his covers. Dragons and wizards and dwarves ran through his mind while he attempted to will himself to sleep. With any luck, the company of 13 dwarves and a wizard would be long gone by morning and he would have to think of it no longer.


	4. Travelling and Thrilling Tales

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There were many things in his life that Bilbo was sure he would come to regret. Tagging along on an adventure (of all things!) was at the top of the list.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *desperately tries to edit and post this chapter with the little time she has between class and work* So I'm not crazy happy with this. It's a smaller chapter and I know it kind of feels like filler, even though it isn't. It's not going to get better just sitting in my drafts though, so here you go. 
> 
> As always, a big thanks for reading and a BIG virtual hug for the folks that kudos and leave comments. If you want to, you can follow my desolate writing Tumblr @thewgwrites. I'm going to try and chronicle my writing process a bit more, rather than just chuck chapters at you all like wet balls of paper.
> 
> Having said that, enjoy the chapter!

It hurt Bilbo’s pride to stand in front of the dwarves, panting, with the signed contract in hand when he had so readily dismissed them only a few hours ago. However, the look of surprise on most of their faces was worth the blow. The only two who did not seem so surprised were Gandalf and Thorin. The wizard had a knowing look that Bilbo found he rather hated. He had the audacity to wink at the hobbit as he collected the bags of coin being thrown his way. The dwarf king looked disgruntled, but Bilbo had expected no different. Regardless, Thorin Oakenshield accepted him into their company with only a grumble before continuing forward.

Bilbo’s own mood soured when they put him up on a pony. He tried to argue, but it was useless. The dwarves and Gandalf had all told him they would be faster if he rode instead of walked. Bilbo could already feel the bruises beginning to form on his legs and backside. Not that the creature wasn’t amicable. She could feel Yavanna’s presence within him and responded by riding as gently as she could manage. It didn’t do him much good, but Bilbo stroked her mane in thanks.

Bofur brought his pony to a trot beside him. Out of all the dwarves, he was certainly the most friendly. His broad smile and affinity for merry tunes were a welcome change from the gruff demeanor of the others, even if those merry tunes were at Bilbo’s own expense. He gave the hobbit a bright, genuine smile, “What made you change your mind?”

“ _What, indeed?_ ” Yavanna’s smug voice echoed in Bilbo’s head. He looked around at the company and ended with his gaze on Thorin. His eyes traced over the dwarf’s figure; the slope of his shoulders, the tilt of his head. He watched him exchange a few words with Dwalin before letting out a deep chuckle. It was the first real hint of happiness from him that Bilbo had seen. 

He cleared his throat, “Well, I couldn’t very well let you all leave thinking I was some small, pathetic creature, now could I? I am a Baggins of Bag End and we Bagginses pride ourselves on our respectability.” Yavanna snorted, as did Gandalf. They were no doubt laughing because this very quest was sabotaging said respectability. Bofur smiled, oblivious to the true meaning of Bilbo’s words, and patted him on the back. It hurt, but the hobbit took it in stride, for it was surely a good sign that, at least for Bofur, any ill will harbored from the previous night had been forgotten.

He fell silent as they continued on their path and reflected on the past day and a half that had brought him there. While his urge to prove the dwarves wrong had certainly been a factor in his decision to adventure off with them, it had not been his main motivation. He had been dead set on staying home up until the morning, when he woke up in an empty house, alone.

The dwarves’ songs of home and gold and dragonfire floated through his head as he walked around Bag End. His kitchen was surprisingly spotless. The bookshelves were all in order, stuffed with encyclopedias on every creature in middle earth, real or mythical. No map was out of place, all were arranged as they had been before the dwarves arrived. It was as if they were never there in the first place. 

Bilbo took a deep breath and sat in his father’s armchair. His parents' portraits stared at him from above the fireplace. On the table beside him, under his mother’s watchful eyes, sat the contract. Thorin’s name was signed in bold, swooping letters, as well as Balin’s. Beneath both signatures was an empty space for Bilbo to sign. As he stared at the blank space, he thought of Balin’s resigned pessimism and Dwalin’s gruff anger. He thought of the brothers, Fíli and Kíli, and their youth. He thought of Gandalf and Thorin and their ridiculous quest. It was so bizarre how easily they blew in and out of his life, like an early morning breeze. Bilbo sighed and sank further into the chair.

“ _You’re not too late,_ ” Yavanna spoke, startling him.

He pulled on a stray thread at the seam of the armchair. It was tempting to ignore her, but doing so would cause more trouble than the immediate satisfaction was worth, so he replied, “Too late for what?”

“ _To join the company. They’re barely at the edge of Hobbiton. If you packed quickly and ran very fast, you could make it._ ”

Bilbo scoffed and pointedly did not look at the contract, “And why would I do that?”

Her voice was a soft whisper in his head, “ _Because you want to._ ” 

He froze. Every sensible bone in his body was telling him to stay home. Stay in Bag End with his books and his armchair. Stay where there were soft beds and full, warm meals. Stay in his peaceful routine of gardening and visiting the markets in town. Stay where nothing unexpected ever happened. Stay where it was safe.

But he didn’t want his routine or safety anymore. Despite his fears of discovery and dragons and death itself, Bilbo wanted to follow Gandalf and the dwarves to the ends of the earth. He wanted to make their adventure his own.

“ _Then go, Bilbo Baggins._ ”

So he did. One morning of running through Hobbiton like a madman later, there he was, galavanting off with some dwarves to go evict some terrifying dragon from some mountain somewhere. The entire thing had his head feeling like the morning after an evening out with the Gaffer. Bilbo hadn’t even been able to pack properly. He was forced to use a patch of Bofur’s sleeve for a hanky. Whatever was in this mountain of theirs had better be worth it. He looked to the brothers riding near him, “I find myself entirely too curious about this company and this mountain we’re allegedly reclaiming.”

“You’re in for a treat, Mr. Boggins,” Kíli piped up. He grinned, “Erebor is the most stunning thing you’ll ever lay your eyes on.”

Fíli rolled his eyes and whacked him upside the head, “You’ve never seen it, you idiot.”

Kíli stuck his tongue out at his brother, “Well, neither have you!” They began arguing with each other, an argument that steadily devolved into swatting each other mercilessly. How they managed to be so violent without falling off their ponies was a marvel. Bilbo was content to watch along with the rest of the company as the two behaved like hobbits on the cusp of majority. 

“Ignore the brothers. Their uncle will sort them out when they get too rowdy,” Gloin spoke up from somewhere behind him. 

“Their uncle?”

As if summoned, Thorin’s booming voice fell upon the company, “Fíli, Kíli! Behave yourselves.” 

Immediately, the brothers fell into line once more, as if the scuffle had never happened. Bilbo was astonished and found his list of questions for the dwarves growing longer and longer, “You all seem so familiar. Are you all related?”

“Not quite, laddie,” Dori smiled at him and rapidly listed everyone, “There’s Thorin, with his nephews Fíli and Kíli. They’re distant relatives of Dwalin and Balin, who are brothers. There are Óin and Glóin, also brothers. I feel there may be a distant relation there as well, but I’d have to consult the family trees. Of course, there’s Bifur, Bofur, and Bombur, who are either brothers or cousins. Plus my own two brothers, Nori and Ori.”

Bilbo stared at him with a blank expression. He wondered if Dori truly felt like his words had made anything more clear. Still, he pressed on, “How did you come to know each other?”

Nori picked at his teeth with a thin dagger, “Get to know each other quite well when you’re all struggling to survive.” He shrugged off his brother’s glare, “It’s true. The Blue Mountains weren’t exactly friendly.”

Dori made a disapproving sound, “But, we made do. Dwarves are built to endure and endure we did.”

Bilbo didn’t respond. Shame coursed through him. The Took family was a wealthy one, with a legacy stretching back all the way to when hobbits first settled in the Shire. He was no stranger to comfort. In fact, he was sure he could afford to build Bag End 100 times over if he so chose. To think, he had been so fussy about the dwarves cleaning out his larder when these dwarves had spent years nearly starving in the Blue Mountains. 

“ _There’s nothing to be said for it now, child,_ ” Yavanna hummed, sensing his guilt, “ _Let it go. You will have plenty of opportunities to make it up to your traveling companions._ ” Bilbo sighed and resigned himself to his shameful feelings for the time being.

They rode for the remainder of the day. The sun had sunk low beneath the horizon by the time they made camp. Bilbo practically jumped from his pony to the ground. Myrtle was a lovely creature, of course, and he appreciated her extra care while he was riding, but nothing compared to the feeling of his toes buried deep into the grass. He brushed a hand through her mane and held an apple for her to eat, “Here you go, girl. Just between us.”

As he began to settle in for the night, a terrible sound that could only be described as a demented roar echoed from somewhere beyond the camp. Bilbo froze. He lept from Myrtle back towards the group, “What was that?”

Kíli looked out into the night and frowned, “Orcs.”

The hobbit blanched. He looked at the Kíli with wide eyes and hissed, “Orcs?”

Fíli hummed in agreement from his place near the fire. He held his pipe in hand and examined it thoroughly, “Throat-cutters. There’ll be dozens of them out there.”

“They strike in the wee small hours of the night when everyone’s asleep,” Kíli fell grim as he spoke, the firelight casting ominous shadows on his face, “Quick and quiet, no screams. Just lots of blood.”

Bilbo could faint. Logically, he knew that the quest would be dangerous. They were parading to go face a dragon, for Eru’s sake. He did not, however, anticipate that the danger would be so immediate. Hobbits were not overflowing with courage. It would take Bilbo the entire length of their journey to prepare to face such dangers. He was not ready for Orcs, nor would he ever be, really.

“ _Relax, child. The dwarflings are teasing,_ ” Yavanna chuckled in his head. True to her word, Fíli and Kíli were nudging each other, grinning like fools. Bilbo could lunge across the fire and whack them for putting such horrible thoughts in his head.

Thorin seemed to agree, “You think a night raid by orcs is a joke?” He stood from his perch on the rocks and gave both his nephews a disapproving glare.

They both looked properly abashed. Fíli looked away, refusing to meet Thorin’s gaze while Kíli spoke with downcast eyes, “We didn’t mean anything by it.”

“No, you didn’t,” Thorin growled. He turned from his nephews to the fear-filled hobbit, “You know nothing of the world.” Thorin gave him a harsh look before stalking towards the cliff’s edge. 

The comment had clearly been targeted at Kíli, Fíli, and Bilbo alike. He wanted to be angry, but he knew Thorin was right. The same guilty feeling from before bubbled up inside of him. He had not faced hardships in his life, nor had he ever been shoved from his home, forced to take on the evils of the world. Bilbo did not know anything about the dangers of Middle-earth outside of the Shire, but that was something he intended to change.

Balin hummed from the alcove he had settled in, “Don’t mind him, laddie. Thorin has more cause than most to hate Orcs.” When Bilbo made it very clear that the dwarf had his attention, Balin launched into the tale of the dwarf kingdom of Moria. He spoke of the legions of Orcs that had settled in the mines, lead by Azog. It was the battle Thorin had lost his grandfather in, as well as many others. The story was bloody and vicious. It hurt Bilbo’s heart to hear. 

But the tale was not over. Balin continued, waxing poetic about a young Thorin fighting against the enemy. Bilbo could picture the battle-torn dwarf standing alone against the pale Orc. He thought of the way the dwarves had behaved in Bag End, lifted by Thorin’s determination alone. It was not so impossible to see how one would follow him into battle. 

Balin finished his tale with a declaration of loyalty to Thorin, a sentiment that echoed through their camp. All of the dwarves looked to him with a new light in their eyes. Even Gandalf’s spirit seemed renewed. Thorin stood before them, not quite smiling but not frowning either. He watched the other dwarves watch him for a moment before his eyes fell to Bilbo. At once, his demeanor changed. A frown settled on his face as he turned and walked back towards his bedroll, “You all should get some sleep. We have a long journey ahead of us.”

Bilbo frowned in a way that matched Thorin’s own steely look. He wanted to follow the dwarf and confront the animosity he so clearly felt for the hobbit, but he thought better of it. It was clear Thorin had the same distrust for strangers as Bilbo had, which was not such a surprise to him, as well as the doubt he had in Bag End about the hobbit joining them at all. While Bilbo running across the Shire to join their company may have been enough of a grandiose show of trust for some, Thorin would take more convincing.

“ _Well,_ ” Yavanna spoke in his head as he settled down to sleep, “ _You’ve always enjoyed a challenge, haven’t you, child?_ ”


	5. Trolls in the Woods

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Adventures, like many things in life, almost never went the way you planned them to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, here you are! This chapter is certainly a chapter. The end is abrupt, but it was either end it there or go on for another 10 pages and I would like to get some sleep tonight. Very little editing was done, we die like men.
> 
> Thank you to everyone who has stuck with this. I love and appreciate all of you. Please PLEASE p l e a s e leave a comment below. Tell me if you love it, hate it, or want to set me on fire. I want it all, baybee. You can follow my barren writing tumbler if you would like [here](https://thewgwrites.tumblr.com/%22here%22). There will not be a chapter next week, so I will see y'all on 04/16.
> 
> Enjoy the chapter!

The days of travel blurred together. Bilbo would have never guessed that the starts of adventures could be so boring. He had been imagining them to be these large, whirlwind events filled to the brim with excitement. The reality of it all was that you were more likely to spend your days trudging through trees while the rain poured down from overhead than you were to see any sort of excitement. Not that he was complaining about the lack of more ‘adventure-like’ incidents. No, Bilbo would prefer that anything constituting an adventure wait until they reached the mountain.

So far, he was no closer to endearing himself to Thorin than he had been at the start of their travels. There was little opportunity for it on the road. Bilbo’s role as a burglar would not come into play until they reached Erebor, so there was not much he was required to do for the company until then. Still, he tried to hold his own weight, if only to prove that he could. He packed and unpacked his own bedroll. He answered the many questions that Ori had about hobbit culture. He assisted Oin in searching for healing herbs, a job made much easier by his ability to spontaneously grow things. 

Thorin did not seem to notice such efforts, or care, for that matter. The dwarf spent most of his time speaking in hushed tones with Balin and Dwalin. If he was not speaking with them, he was watching the road ahead with narrowed, critical eyes. His brows were permanently furrowed. The tenseness in his shoulders never left. He stayed like that most days, brooding in almost complete silence. Not even his nephews, with their endless jokes and shenanigans, could get him to relax.

Bilbo was not the only one bothered by his behavior. Gandalf’s frustration with the dwarf seemed to grow exponentially as they continued on their journey. The wizard chewed on his pipe more and more. When he spoke to the company, it was in a clipped, exasperated tone. He too watched the road ahead with his brows furrowed. 

The strange tension came to head when the company stumbled upon the charred shell of a barn house. There was an empty silence that hung in the air as they approached the still smoldering rubble. The entire scene was rather odd, as a fire had obvious ravaged the home, but none of the surrounding areas had suffered any damage. Yavanna seemed as unsettled by the scene as Bilbo was. 

“We’ll make camp here for the night,” Thorin declared, much to the hobbit’s discomfort. He did not want to stay in the remains of some poor farmer’s home. Someone had lived there before and now that someone was most likely dead. He did not wish to end up the same way.

Gandalf surveyed the area, just as displeased with Thorin’s decision as Bilbo was. The wizard steered his horse towards the trees, “I think it would be wiser to move on. We should make for the Hidden Valley.”

Thorin gave him a withering glare, “I will not go near that place.”

“The elves could assist us,” Gandalf returned his glare, “We could get food, rest, advice. We have a map that we cannot read. Lord Elrond could help.” Bilbo couldn’t help but agree. Not only did the idea of sleeping in a place of such obvious tragedy make him squirm, but he had always wished to meet elves. His mother had raised him on tales of elves and fairies. Yavanna spoke highly of them, citing their love of nature and cool wisdom. His library in Bag End was filled with books written in Tengwar and maps of elven cities. Going to Rivendell would give him the opportunity to brush up on his Sindarin with a native speaker. It would also be nice to sleep on something that wasn’t the ground. 

Thorin seemed offended by the mere suggestion of elves, as did the surrounding dwarves who heard the proposal. His shoulders grew tense and his face scrunched up, “Help? What help has ever come from the elves? You ask me to seek out those who betrayed my father and his father before him.”

“I did not give you that map and key for you to hold onto the past,” Gandalf huffed.

“They were never yours to keep,” Thorin returned.

The wizard grumbled something unintelligible and turned away from the dwarf. He stalked passed all of the other dwarves as well as Bilbo, who was rather alarmed at the sight, “Gandalf, where are you going?”

“To seek the company of the only one around here with any sense: myself!” His voice seemed to echo off the treeline. He gave Thorin one more withering glare before walking straight into the forest. Something akin to dread welled in the bottom of Bilbo’s stomach as he watched the patch of trees that Gandalf had disappeared into. The sun had fallen behind the treeline, causing brilliant flickers of orange and red to burst through the branches. 

Yavanna whispered quiet reassurances, “ _Let him vent his frustrations. Mithrandir will return._ ” Bilbo did not doubt she was telling the truth, but he feared what may happen to them in Gandalf’s absence. Whatever destroyed the farmhouse could still be lurking in the woods, waiting patiently in the shadows for them to fall asleep. The thought terrified him.

Night fell quickly. Any traces of daylight vanished from the horizon, leaving a star-studded sky and a sliver of the moon in its wake. A swift breeze swept across the camp, ruffling their bedrolls and rattling their bones. The forest seemed to come alive in the dark. Various calls from all kinds of creatures echoed off the trees in an eerie symphony. Bilbo kept scanning the treeline, waiting for Gandalf’s signature hat and cloak to appear. 

The dwarves were unaffected by the wizard’s dramatic exit. Thorin barked orders at them as if nothing had happened. They all fell into their nightly routines. Fíli and Kíli had disappeared to watch over the ponies. Oin and Gloin tended to the fire while Bofur and Bombur finished preparing their meal. The former held two bowls of rations out to Bilbo, “Do us a favor, here. Take this to the lads.”

The hobbit dreaded the idea of leaving the firelight but took the bowls anyways. As he made his way towards where the ponies were tied, the quiet sound of bickering could be heard above the ambient noises of the forest. Bilbo crept forward and listened carefully. When he found the brothers, they were shoving each other, arguing in front of the ponies.

He approached them, soup in hand, “What’s the matter?”

Kíli gave Fíli a final push before addressing Bilbo, “We’re supposed to be looking after the ponies.”

“Only we’ve encountered a slight problem,” Fíli gave him an apologetic smile, “Daisy and Bungo are missing.”

“Well, that’s not good.” A nervous chuckle bubbled up from Bilbo’s stomach, “That is not good at all.” He glanced from the ponies back towards where they had set up camp, “Shouldn’t we tell Thorin?”

Fíli brushed off his concern, “Best not to worry him.” The dwarf paused, turned to Bilbo, and smiled, “As our official burglar, we thought you might like to look into it.” 

The hobbit went still. It was a horrible idea and a poor attempt at avoiding trouble. He would be better off returning to camp and informing Thorin that his reckless nephews lost a couple of their ponies. The dwarf would be angry, of course, but he could never stay mad at the boys for too long. They could make do with two fewer ponies. Bilbo had been willing to walk before and Fíli and Kíli could share as punishment. The situation wasn’t ideal, but it would work. 

He examined the clearing. Near the treeline were several uprooted trees. The sight filled him with trepidation, but it served as confirmation that the ponies had not just wandered off. He ran a hand through his curls and sighed. It would not hurt to investigate a little before returning to camp. He would rather return to Thorin with more than just news of his nephew's incompetence, which was something he was sure the dwarf already knew of.

Bilbo pointed out the trail of trees leading into the forest and gestured for the boys to follow him. Together, they trekked into the woods. They did not have to go far before coming upon a lit campfire surrounded by three massive trolls.

Bilbo balked at the creatures. They were the tallest, fattest living things he had ever seen. The three of them were hunched around each other, stirring a pot between them. Their skin was ashy grey in color and covered in various calluses and warts. They had large, sloping foreheads, flat noses, and round, beady eyes. Truly, they were disgusting creatures and Bilbo had no desire to look at them any longer.

Kíli pointed to the pen behind the lumbering creatures where Daisy and Bungo were held captive, as well as Myrtle and Minty, “They’re going to eat them! You have to do something, Master Boggins!”

Fíli and Kíli shoved him towards the troll’s camp, whispering something about hooting like an owl should he get into any trouble. Bilbo stuttered out his protest, but before he could even blink, the boys were gone. He was left alone to face three hungry trolls who were minutes away from eating their ponies. The whole thing was so absurd, he wasn’t sure whether he wanted to laugh or cry out in fear. Still, he continued. Who was to say how long they had until their ponies were eaten. Hopefully, the boys would pool what little sense they had and go get Thorin.

Bilbo was silent as he crept into the trolls camp. It was not terribly difficult to sneak around behind them, as they were loudly arguing over their evening meal. He tried to listen as much as he could, but their half-coherent ramblings combined with their thick accents made them hard to follow. It was better for him to focus on the task at hand. Bilbo shushed the ponies as he approached. Quickly as he could, he yanked on the ropes keeping them tied in.

“ _Look out!_ ”

The warning came too late. Bilbo found himself yanked into the air by a massive, dirt-covered hand and held above a boiling pot of stew. All three of the trolls blinked at him owlishly. The troll holding him leaned in, “What are you then? An oversized squirrel?”

Bilbo gaped back at the creature. His throat seemed to close up before he stuttered out, “I’m a burglar, uh hobbit!”

One of the other trolls scrunched up his nose, “A burglarobbit?”

“Can we cook him?” 

He felt his blood turn to ice. The troll holding him smiled, bearing his jagged teeth to Bilbo, “We can try!”

The hobbit immediately started struggling. He sunk his teeth into one of the trolls fingers, causing the beast to spasm and let him go. The taste made him nearly fall to the ground retching, but he managed to avoid another hand swiping to scoop him up. Bilbo ran out of their reach. In a panic, he very quickly willed several roots to wrap themselves around the trolls’ feet. When they stood to give chase, they all toppled over one another. 

Before he could bolt into the forest, Kíli and Fíli rushed into the clearing, swords raised.  
They let out a dwarvish battle cry and began hacking at the downed trolls. The rest of the dwarves followed behind them, including a rather furious Thorin, who raised his sword to slash at a troll’s ear. 

Together, the dwarves fought the lumbering creatures. It was an odd battle to witness, for the trolls were over three times the size of the average dwarf. Still, they used every tactic they could to take the giants down. Bilbo used the chaos of it all to circle back to the ponies. He swiped a forgotten knife from the ground and sawed at the ropes holding them in. After a few moments, the rope snapped and allowed the ponies to run free. 

His brief feeling of relief was cut short by another troll's hand finding its way around his torso. Again, Bilbo was lifted into the air. The trolls held him above the dwarves and growled, “Lay down your arms, or we’ll rip his off!” Bilbo was at a loss for what to do. He could not free himself the same way he had previously without revealing his abilities to the dwarves. Doing so was all but out of the question, so he hung in the air helplessly.

Thorin gave the trolls a murderous glare and threw his sword into the dirt. The other dwarves followed suit, with glares to match. One by one, the trolls began trying the dwarves up. Several were tied to a long roasting spit, while others were stuffed into sacks. Bilbo was tied up and thrown almost directly on top of Gloin. He and the others watched helplessly while their companions were slowly roasted over the fire. The trolls began arguing again. Something about spices and sage. Bilbo observed the dwarves struggling around him and those being roasted over the fire. His head was spinning. They needed a plan and quickly.

“ _Help is coming, child,_ ” Yavanna whispered. An image of Gandalf flashed in his mind, along with the morning light of dawn. It was not that hey had to beat the dwarves, they just needed to stall long enough for Gandalf to rescue them. After a minute of thinking and watching the rest of the company struggle, Bilbo was struck with a horrible, truly terrible idea. 

Slowly, he stood up from the pile of dwarves. They all gawked at him with wide, confused eyes. He urged them to stay silent. The trolls had not noticed him, too focused on roasting the dwarves over the fire. He hopped over to their cauldron and shouted, startling them, “You are making a terrible mistake.” Bilbo ignored the dwarves’ shouts of protest, “I—I meant with the seasoning!”

One of the trolls leaned down right into Bilbo’s face. He was so close that the hobbit could see the individual hairs coming out of the ugly creature's nose. The troll looked him up and down with a critical eye, “What about the seasoning?”

“Well, have you smelled them?” Bilbo scrunched his nose dramatically, “You’re going to need more than sage before you plate this lot up. Untie me and I’ll help you.” The dwarves immediately began shouting angrily about his supposed ‘betrayal’. He could barely keep himself from rolling his eyes. No wonder Gandalf had left in such a huff. They were nearly as thick-headed as the trolls themselves.

The troll in front of Bilbo seemed pleasantly surprised by his offer to help. The other two sitting around the fire looked more skeptical than happy. One sniffed and glared at the hobbit, “And what do you know about cooking dwarf?”

Before he could respond, the first troll glared back at the other and shouted, “Shut up!” He turned back to Bilbo and smiled, “Let the flurgaburburhobbit talk.”

“Well, If you let me go, I’ll show you every ingredient needed to make the most delicious dwarf you’ll ever taste.” With his ability, Bilbo began willing several spices into existence near the dwarves. He was hoping their enraged state meant they wouldn’t notice a few plants magically sprouting up around them. 

After a brief argument between them, the trolls agreed to untie him. He sat still as they loosened the sack from around him. It took all of his might not to flinch away from the creatures disgusting, grubby fingers. The skeptical one near the fire gave him a murderous scowl, “If you try anything, we’ll break your legs.” Bilbo nodded soundlessly. It was a sobering statement, one that shook his nerves. He was about to trick a group of trolls who would kill him the second something went amiss. 

Oh, if his mother could see him now.

When he was finally free, he slowly made his way around the group, “Let me see, we’ll need some cloves, maybe some ginger.” Bilbo made a big show of picking the plants out from between the dwarves. As he did so, he discreetly untied several of their sacks. They all stopped wiggling the instant they realized what he was doing. Bilbo looked at Thorin and silently pleaded for him to keep going. The dwarf gave him a deliberately neutral glance before kicking his companions and struggling in an obvious, noticeable fashion. Bilbo nodded and whispered, “Keep it up.”

“What are you saying?” The trolls called from the fire.

He ran back to them, spices in hand, gesturing wildly, “I’m saying you’ll have to start the whole thing over! Dwarves are no good roasted in such a way. There’s a secret to it all, of course!”

“What is it then?”

Bilbo froze, “I—well, see here...” he trailed off.

“Yes? Come on, then. Tell us the secret!” The trolls leaned toward him.

“Yes, I’m telling you. The secret is—”

“NOW!” Thorin shouted. All of the dwarves that Bilbo had untied leaped up from the ground. Kíli grabbed Bilbo and yanked the hobbit behind him. The others scrambled towards their weapons, which had been thrown haphazardly to the side. Bilbo watched the dwarves re-arm themselves and attack the trolls once again. 

Before any blood could be shed, Gandalf appeared on top of a large boulder. He held his staff in hand and shouted, “The dawn will take you all!” The rock beneath him split in two, revealing the rising sun behind it. The trolls let out terrible yowls as their skin turned to stone. Carefully, he made his way around the newly formed troll statues and down to the company.

Bilbo could have wept he was so relieved. He watched as Gandalf and the dwarves began untying those who were roasting above the fire. The wizard fell into a tense but amicable conversation with Thorin. Both of them kept briefly looking at him before continuing. Bilbo felt a spark of curiosity in regards to what they were saying, but he left it alone for now.

“Mr. Boggins, that was fantastic!” Kíli practically tackled him to the ground. He wrapped his arm around Bilbo’s shoulder in a fierce side hug. His hair was in knots and there was a red flush to his face, but he seemed mostly unharmed and his eyes were wide and excited, “Those dumb trolls fell for every word.”

“If my memory serves me correctly, you fell for every word as well,” Bilbo rounded on him with a raised brow. He had to resist the urge to whack the dwarf’s arm, “Did you truly think I would help a bunch of trolls make a meal of you all?”

He had the decency to look a little ashamed, “Well, no, but I know nothing of hobbits! You could have been dwarf-eaters. Who’s to say?”

“I’ve told you already,” Ori whined, having overheard their conversation, “Hobbits and dwarves have similar appetites.”

Fíli shook his head as he began to put away the many knives that had been stolen off him, “It’s no use, Ori. We all know the hair that’s supposed to be on his chin grows out his ears instead.” The comment caused several members of the company to chuckle. Kíli pulled away from Bilbo and jumped on his brother. The two fell to the ground in a scrap similar to their other fights, shouting insults at each other throughout it all. Bilbo had a sudden and shocking moment of fondness for the two of them. He wondered when exactly their troublesome nature had become endearing to him.

“The trolls could not have moved in daylight. There must be a cave nearby,” Gandalf motioned for the company to follow. Bilbo brushed away his thoughts and moved to trail the wizard. Together, they began to search for the troll cave.


	6. Wizards and Wild Things

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bilbo truly did not know what to think of Radagast the Brown.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wahoo, ya girl is back with a new chapter. I'm actually quite happy with this, and it actually resembles my first draft of it. Hopefully y'all don't hate it.
> 
> Please leave a comment below or come yell at me on tumblr [here](https://thewgwrites.tumblr.com/%22here%22). I live for your feedback, good or bad. As we drift into finals, I may pull stunts like this where I post every other week. I will try to let you know in advance so you aren't frantically refreshing the page, waiting for a new chapter (not that any of you do that anyway). As always, thank you for reading. Enjoy!

The troll cave proved to be a lucrative find. Though it was smelly and filled with bones and carcasses of dead things, it was also filled with treasure. He admired the sword that Gandalf had passed to him. It was shorter than many of the blades that the dwarves carried, with a plain hilt and a decorative curl carved in the center. Fíli and Kíli snickered at the size, but Bilbo found it was a perfect fit for him. 

In truth, he had always been a bit of a pacifist. Bilbo would much rather avoid conflict than rise to meet it. Even Lobelia, who always managed to rile him up, could only ever squeeze a few choice words out of him before Bilbo was running back to Bag End. He had been that way his whole life. Yavanna claimed it was in his nature, as it was in hers, “We’re peaceful creatures, there’s no changing that.”

No, Bilbo had no desire to change his peaceful nature. He lazily swung the blade back and forth before tucking it back into its sheath, hoping he would never see the glint of its steel again. One day, once this whole adventure was over and the dwarves were tucked away, safe in their mountain, Bilbo would hang the blade over his mantle. There it could collect dust until the next adventure came knocking on his front door.

Gandalf wandered up to him as Bilbo strapped the sword to his hip, “The blade is of elvish make, which means it will glow blue when orcs or goblins are nearby.” 

“I’ve never used a blade in my life.” He gently placed his hand on the hilt.

Yavanna hummed in his head, “ _And I hope you never have to._ ”

Bilbo’s mind wandered as Gandalf began spouting some wizardly wisdom about courage and knowledge. Without the presence of the trolls, the forest had lost its eerie feeling. Peace could once again be found among the green leaves and peeling bark. He sucked in a deep breath and wiggled his toes in the grass, feeling the blades curve around his feet.

He watched the dwarves in the brief moment of downtime they found. Dori was fluttering around Ori, who was waiting patiently for his brother to be done fussing. Nori, Bofur, and Glóin had finished burying their chest filled with gold and had now moved on to taking stock of what they could fill their pockets with. Bifur and Bombur were caught up in a tense conversation, thought the true topic was something absurd, as Bilbo kept hearing Bombur blurt out random, disjointed words. Óin was taking stock of his supplies, as he often did. Thorin was showing his new elvish blade to Balin, who gazed at the weapon with much scrutiny. Fíli and Kíli were caught up in some game the two had invented. Bilbo had been avoiding their gaze, in hopes they wouldn't drag him into it. 

“It was a clever trick, the stunt you pulled with the trolls,” Dwalin called, causing the hobbit to jump. He walked up from near the mouth of the cave, axe in hand.

Bilbo fidgeted in place. Of all the dwarves, Dwalin was certainly the most intimidating. His tattoos combined with his signature scowl and giant war hammer made him a formidable figure. A nervous smile spread across his face as the dwarf approached, “Thank you, Master Dwalin.”

“When we next settle for camp, I’ll be teaching you to wield that toothpick of yours.” He gestured to the sword tied to Bilbo’s hip.

He immediately wanted to rip the blade from his waist and throw it back into the cave, “I assure you, that is not at all necessary. I hardly intend to use it.” 

“All the more reason, lad.” Dwalin put the hilt of his axe into the dirt and leaned against it. He looked the hobbit up and down, “Doubt you’ll be more of a pain than the boys, though we’ll need to do something about those wee arms.”

Bilbo sputtered and tucked his arms into himself as best as he could, “Why do you want to teach me, anyhow?”

“Thorin asked me.”

His answer threw Bilbo off more than the whole premise did. Thorin had barely given him the time of day on their journey so far. Bilbo was sure the dwarf had more important things to worry about than a simple hobbit. While he was still trying to get on his good side, he had given up on trying to gain any comradery with him. Thorin was preoccupied with the quest and the best thing that Bilbo could do was stay out of sight and out of mind.

“ _How curious_ ,” Yavanna murmured with a pleased tilt in her voice.

He could think of it no longer, as there was a great rustling from within the forest. The dwarves immediately formed ranks. Dwalin pulled Bilbo behind him and sandwiched the hobbit between himself and Balin.

Shouts echoed through the woods. Out from the trees burst a dingy, dirty looking man riding a sled pulled by rabbits, of all things. He drove right between the dwarves before pulling to a stop directly in front of Gandalf. The man was wrapped in brown rags and a brown coat. He held a twisted staff in hand, not unlike Gandalf’s very own. Various twigs and leaves were stuck to him. A trail of what looked like bird poop trailed down the right side of his face, starting from under the rim of his floppy hat. Bilbo had to blink several times to make sure he wasn’t seeing things. 

“Radagast the Brown!” Gandalf shouted at the same time that Yavanna exclaimed, “ _Aiwendil!_ ”

Radagast jerked back in surprise and looked around for a moment before Gandalf caught his attention once more. As the two were quickly engrossed in a wizardly conversation, Bilbo curled in on himself and hissed out, “Who is that?”

“What’s that laddie?” Balin questioned.

Bilbo waved him off, “Nothing, just thinking aloud.” The dwarf shared a quizzical look with his brother but left him be.

Yavanna answered with a kind tone, “ _Aiwendil is an old friend and loyal companion,_ ” Images flashed through Bilbo’s head of a young Radagast from before he had arrived on middle earth. It was strange to see the wizard before he had truly become a wizard, back when he was a mere specter in the land of the Valar. He watched as plants and creatures of all kind were graced with his gentle touch. Yavanna sighed, “ _Oh, it’s good to see you, old friend._ ” 

Again, Radagast tore himself away from his conversation with Gandalf to look around. He watched as the wizard scanned the treeline, searching for some unseen presence. Eventually, his gaze fell to the hobbit. Bilbo waved to him, “Erm, hello.” 

“ _Hello, Aiwendil._ ”

The wizard gasped. He pushed passed Gandalf and shuffled to stand directly in front of him. He knelt down to the hobbit’s height and leaned in close, almost touching his nose to Bilbo’s. He whispered in awe, “It can’t be.” Bilbo said nothing and neither did Yavanna, but Radagast’s staff flashed a brilliant green. It startled the dwarves around them, but the hobbit and the wizard stayed in place, eyes locked as if they were in a trance. Gandalf huffed on his pipe and stared at both of them with unbridled curiosity. 

“Gandalf—” Radagast turned to address his fellow wizard, but Yavanna cut him off.

“ _Mithrandir does not know._ ” He turned back to Bilbo, who stared at him with wide, innocent eyes as she continued, “ _And we would like it to stay that way._ ”

Radagast paused. He chewed his lip and scratched the side of his head before turning to Gandalf again. He coughed and adjusted his hat, “What are you doing with a hobbit this far east?”

“ _Thank you, Aiwendil._ ” It was not a smooth cover, for Gandalf still looked suspicious, but he let it go for now. Bilbo let out a breath he did realize he had been holding. He truly did not know how to feel about Radagast being made aware of Yavanna’s presence in his head. It made sense to be more apprehensive, as Radagast was a wizard and wizards had quite the reputation for being meddlesome (see: Gandalf), but Yavanna herself did not seem phased. She trusted him and that trust alone was keeping all the anxious feelings residing in Bilbo’s stomach from bubbling out. 

Bofur wandered up to Bilbo and slung an arm around his shoulder, “What was that all about?” The hobbit looked around to see all of the dwarves staring at him with varying levels of interest. Fíli and Kíli looked ready to pounce on him again, nearly boiling over with innocent curiosity. Thorin looked as if he was ready to use the strangeness as an excuse to leave the hobbit behind.

Bilbo huffed and shrugged, “I’ve given up on trying to understand wizards.” Most of the company took his answer for what it was, but Thorin’s eyes narrowed even further.

Before anyone else could question him, innocent or accusatory, a great howl echoed over the company. Gandalf shouted for everyone to arm themselves. Bilbo watched the members of the company prepare for battle. His eyes fell to Radagast, who was already watching him. The wizard gave him a nod and shifted his grip on his staff. 

A large, wolf-like creature appeared from over a hill not far from where they were all standing. Biblo watched in fear as the creature let out a horrible screech and barreled down towards the company. It launched itself into the clearing, snapping its jaws at the closest dwarves. Before it could do any damage, Thorin swung his blade down on the creature’s neck. 

Two more emerged from the trees, downed by Kíli’s bow and Dwalin’s axe. Thorin took a deep breath and pulled his sword from the dead animal, “Warg scouts, which means an orc pack is not far behind.” He wiped the blood from his blade and looked around, “What in Durin’s name is going on?”

Gandalf looked at the company and the dead wargs that surrounded them, “It appears that you are being hunted.” 

“We need to get out of here,” Dwalin grunted. Bilbo agreed, but they had no ponies. They had bolted the moment they heard the warg cries.

Radagast readied his sled, “I’ll draw them off.” Gandalf tried to protest, but the wizard brushed him off with a comment about Rhosgobel rabbits. He looked at Bilbo and smiled. His staff flashed green once more. With a sharp whistle and a spirited cry, he was off.

“ _Good luck, Aiwendil_ ,” Yavanna whispered. 

Bilbo watched his sled disappear between the trees before being yanked by a member of the company in the opposite direction. Gandalf led them out of the forest and into a grassy clearing. There was little time to marvel at the scenery, though Bilbo took great note of the mountain ranges and beautiful sloping hills, even as he ran for his life. Behind them, Radagast’s taunts and the howls of wargs echoed.

It was not long before the orcs caught wind of their ruse. The company had found temporary relief between several rock formations when a warg stumbled upon them. They all fell silent and pressed themselves against the boulders that covered them. Thorin gesture to Kíli, who had readied himself, bow in hand. In one smooth motion, he emerged from his hiding spot and shot the creature. It was an excellent shot but it did nothing to silence the furious cry the warg let out before Thorin slit its throat.

They were quickly discovered by the rest of the pack. Bilbo had never seen an orc before. The being that approached them on the back of a warg was disgusting. Its coarse skin was pulled taut over its face and hooked nose; the mouth was drawn in a furious snarl. The armor it wore was carved from bones and covered in the pelts of creatures it had slain. It spoke in tongues, spitting out harsh bits of language to the orcs that followed it. 

Gandalf shouted above the dwarves frantic scramble to form a defense, “Follow me! This way!” He gestured to a crevice between two of the rock formations. There was no time to be skeptical about how Gandalf knew of this passage or where it would lead to. The company followed him blindly. One after another, they all jumped into the cavern. Bilbo let out a choked cry as Dwalin threw him into the depth. He tumbled down the slope, landing directly at Glóin’s feet. The dwarf pulled him back up to standing and together they watched their companion come sliding town. 

Thorin was the last of them, skidding to a stop directly under the mouth of the cave. They all paused with bated breath and listened for the orcs. After a few moments of silence, Bilbo heard the pained growls of their foes and the telltale thump of arrows hitting their marks. He looked at Thorin, who was staring up into the clearing and muttering.

“I cannot see where the path leads,” Fíli called from deep in the cavern. He rejoined the company and looked to his uncle, “Do we follow it?”

Thorin nodded, “Of course.”

Gandalf hummed, his face blank, “I think that would be wise.”

Immediately, Bilbo became suspicious. Gandalf and Thorin had butt heads on every turn of their journey so far. It was not like the wizard to agree to a decision with a seemingly uncertain outcome. Unless, of course, the outcome was surer that they were lead to believe. Yavanna voiced her agreement, also skeptical of Gandalf’s motivations. Still, the wizard gave nothing away and so the company continued forward.

Bilbo was surprised to find himself next to Thorin as they walked. He sighed and resigned himself to a silent, uncomfortable hike, but the dwarf spoke, “The business with the wizard...” His voice was low, but he still startled the hobbit enough for him to stumble a bit. Bilbo kicked the pebbled beneath his feet and grimaced. He had almost forgotten about their encounter with Radagast in their crazed escape from the orcs. It did not seem that Thorin was willing to let such strangeness go.

“As I said,” Bilbo cleared his throat, “I’ve given up trying to reason the actions of wizards.” The answer would have to suffice, for he had no other answer to give. He was still reeling from the encounter, trying to make sense of the strange half-telepathic communication that had occurred. 

Thorin hummed, “Do you often find yourself the object of a wizard’s curiosity, halfling?”

“No, but recent trends suggest that I should start preparing for it.” The dwarf snorted and shook his head. He asked no further questions, which Bilbo was grateful for. He quickly changed the subject, gesturing to the sword still strapped to his hip, “Dwalin is set on teaching me to wield this, what did he call it, toothpick of mine.”

“You’re no use to us if you cannot defend yourself.” Thorin did not look at him. Bilbo was disappointed with his response, but he did not seem surprised that the hobbit was set to learn, which seemed to be a good sign. Even if Thorin had no care for him, he still did not want to see him left in the wilderness with no way to defend himself. The dwarf, of course, did not know that Bilbo was more than capable of defending himself if the instance with the trolls had proven anything. Not only could he talk himself out of most anything, but there was also his magic to consider. 

Regardless, Bilbo took the sword lessons for what they were: an attempt to protect him, or at least to help him protect himself. He counted it as a win and a step in the right direction. In the dark pathway, Thorin did not see the bright smile that had spread across his face as they headed towards their unknown destination.


	7. Respite in Rivendell

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Much to Bilbo's excitement and the dwarves' dismay, the company arrived at Rivendell.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for your patience as I figure my shit out. As everyone knows, life happens, good or bad. I appreciate all of you and your dedication. From now on this story should be posted weekly. I'm a little drunk posting this, so no guarantees that it won't be littered with typos. As always, I eagerly await your comments and criticisms. Please, please, please let me know what you think. I'd link my tumblr but I never use it. Just know you can find me @thewgwrites.

Of course, Bilbo’s gut instincts about Gandalf’s suspicious nature had proven to be correct. The supposed “unknown path” that they had been stumbling upon led them directly to Rivendell. He was annoyed that Gandalf tricked them all in such a way, but he could not be angry while staring straight at the homely house. Bilbo marveled at the sight in front of them. Tall structures and stretching archways towered over every inch of the town. The warm glow cast by the sun's rays upon the buildings filtered through the intricacies of elvish architecture and lit the halls from within. Trees and various fauna sprouted up between each building. Truly, it was the most beautiful sight Bilbo had ever seen. 

A rush of happiness flooded through Bilbo’s soul at the sight. It was so sudden and all-encompassing that he immediately knew it was not only his own but Yavanna’s as well. Elves were creatures that Bilbo had been hearing about all his childhood; stories that Yavanna herself had told him. While he was excited to meet their acquaintance and walk through their halls, he knew this was a homecoming for Yavanna.

She had not set foot in Middle Earth for several ages. It was not often that Yavanna left Bilbo’s head. He could scarcely remember the few times she had fled to take care of such otherworldly things that the Valar are tasked to handle, but never anything in the physical world. There, tucked inside Bilbo’s mind, was the first time she had looked upon the home of elves in millennia. 

“ _I always hope you would come here_ ,” Yavanna spoke wistfully in his mind, “ _There is a magic here much like your own_.”

Bilbo could feel it. In the very tips of his fingers and toes, his magic seemed to buzz. He closed his eyes and simply let himself be engrossed by it. The air was so thick with it he could taste it on his tongue. Warm rays of sunlight fell upon his cheeks. The rush of water and call of songbirds echoed in his ears. Idly, he wondered if this was how Gandalf felt in such places. Was the wizard’s relationship with magic so tangible, or was it something more abstract?

He looked to see if he could glean something from Gandalf’s expression, but he was caught in a heated debate with Thorin. The dwarf looked ready to throw the wizard right off the cliff, quest be damned. His scrunched-up face was red and his hands were balled into fists, trembling with anger. The rest of the dwarves seemed to be in similar states. Gandalf just looked smug, as he often did. He ignored the outraged shouts of the majority of the company and led them down the ridge towards the last homely house east of the sea.

His pack was no longer heavy on his shoulders. Even though the adrenaline from fleeing the orcs has worn off, Bilbo did not feel tired. The aches in his feet were gone, as were the aches in his shoulders. A pleasant smile stretched across his cheeks, for truly this was the best he had felt since the start of their journey. 

Nori slid next to him and nudged his shoulder with his elbow, “You look awfully pleased, Master Baggins. Glad to be out of the company of trolls and orcs?”

He responded with a deep sigh, but still, it did not pull the smile from his face, “Yes, I feel I’ve had enough orcs and trolls for a lifetime.”

Nori barked out a laugh, “I’ve only bad news for you, then. Mountains’ still a ways away.” Bilbo groaned and caused them both to chuckle.

Bilbo’s good mood faltered. He knew that the company could not afford to remain in the elven realm. There was a quest to be completed, and sitting around chit-chatting with elves would do nothing to further their journey. He also knew that their supplies were waning and that it had been too long since any member of their company had gotten a good rest. If Gandalf and Yavanna were correct, the elves would provide them with both supplies and rest, if only for a short period. A somber feeling belonging to Yavanna drifted through his head. She was looking forward to treating with the elves. 

Gandalf called for the company’s attention as they crossed a long, narrow bridge towards the gates. Bilbo stuck close to Nori and Bofur, so he could pay attention rather than worry about falling off the railing-less pass. “If we are to be successful, this will need to be handled with tact. And respect. And no small degree of charm,” he straightened his hat and smiled, “Which is why you will leave the talking to me.”

The company arrived at the foot of a great staircase leading up to the halls. It was long and winding, with many complicated turned and, much like the bridge, lacking in any sort of railing. As excited as he was, Bilbo wanted to groan. He had never climbed so many stairs in his life, not to mention stairs meant for large folk. Still, he looked up to Rivendell with awe. It only grew more beautiful, more ripe with magic, the closer they got. 

An elf strolled down, looking as ethereal as all elves tend to. They immediately move to speak with Gandalf in hushed tones. Bilbo watched the company fidget around him. Nori idly twirled his punch dagger in his hand. Bofur shifted from foot to foot. His eyes flicked with nervous energy. Dwalin refused to put his axe away, as did several others, including Thorin. The dwarf’s eyes did not leave Gandalf and the elf. His gaze was cold and closed-off, revealing nothing. Bilbo wanted to roll his eyes at it all. 

“ _If the dwarves believe they have enemies here, they are fools indeed_ ,” Yavanna whispered with no heat. He was thankful that she was amused by the dwarves and not angered by their obvious prejudice. 

“Thorin, look out!” 

From across the bridge, a band of riders charged towards the company. The dwarves called to close ranks. Bilbo was yanked back by Bofur and shoved behind him. The party of elves circled the dwarves with their horses at a brisk pace. Thorin shouted orders at the company in a language Bilbo did not speak. They could not contain their panic, as Bilbo was bounced between their shuffling. 

It was all for nothing, as the elves slowed and their leader descended from his horse. He was very regal looking, with long, brown hair and a silver circlet on his head. His shoulders were covered in shining armor. Where Thorin was all scowl and anger, this elf oozed calm. His expression was serene. If he was surprised by the dwarves' presence, he did not show it. With a sigh and a small smile, he greeted Gandalf.

“Lord Elrond.”

“Strange for orcs to come so close to our borders. Something or someone has drawn them near,” he looked at Gandalf with a raised brow. Bilbo wanted to laugh. There was an obvious friendship between the two. Elrond seemed all too aware of the wizards more meddlesome nature. He would have to ask the elf later. Yavanna hummed her agreement.

Gandalf smiled and gestured, “May I introduce The Company of Thorin Oakenshield.”

Thorin and the others shuffled forward. They all looked as suspicious as they did before. Bilbo wanted to shield his eyes from their awful manners, but he forced himself to pay attention. Elrond did not seem offended. He inclined his head towards Thorin, “Welcome, Thorin, son of Thrain.”

His eyes narrowed as he looked up to Elrond, “I do not believe we have met.”

“You have your grandfather’s bearing,” he looked Thorin up and down. A smile flashed across his face, “I knew Thror when he ruled under the Mountain. Come, let us eat. I’m sure we have much to discuss.” The other elves dispersed at his command. Lindir, the elf from before, stepped forward and gestured for the company to follow him. Reluctantly, they did.

Lindir led them through a series of winding halls towards their rooms. Bilbo wished to stop at every statue. He wanted to admire every inch of the homely house before they had to leave. However, Bofur’s insistent tugging prevented him from being left behind. While he was annoyed, he knew it was for the best. He was eager to explore but Bilbo had no desire to get lost. 

Dinner was a rambunctious affair. Many of the dwarves were disappointed at the lack of meat on the table. Bilbo thought they were being awfully picky, considering they had been eating meager stews and rock-hard bread for however many weeks. The most ridiculous was the young ones, Fíli, Kíli, and Ori. All three of them refused to eat anything green like little babes. He resisted the urge to slap them all upside the head.

After they ate, the dwarves broke into song, just like they had at Bag End. They interrupted the elves that were playing soft, melodious tunes and took out instruments of their own. Bofur hopped up on the table and began singing a raunchy song about an inn. Bilbo wanted to be mortified, but he found himself too wrapped up in the merriment of it all. He chuckled as Fíli and Kíli began playing fiddle with each other in a sort of competition. The company cheered them on, pounding on the table and ignoring the horrified looks on the elves faces. 

Bilbo was so entranced by the dwarves, he hadn’t even noticed that Thorin and Gandalf had gone until they were being ushered to their rooms by a group of elves. He looked around, searching for the leaders of their company. When Dwalin noticed, he shook his head and snorted, “They’re meeting with Lord Elrond, laddie, along with Balin. No doubt giving away all our secrets.”

He rolled his eyes at Dwalin’s obvious mistrust and followed the company through the halls. Bilbo doubted that Thorin would give away much of anything, not willingly. Dwarves were a stubborn race and Thorin was the king of stubbornness. His secrets would not go easily. Bilbo said as much to Dwalin and the dwarf barked out a laugh, “King of Stubbornness, indeed, halfling.”

Their rooms were not bad, truly. The dwarves were just awful. Bilbo wanted to roll his eyes at their fussy nature. Every one of them complained of how fragile the furniture was and how stuffed the beds were. Of course, the hobbit had no issue with the beds and found that the furniture was rather pretty, no matter how ‘fragile’ the brutish dwarves deemed it. 

While the dwarves were distracted in their complaining, Bilbo leaned over to one of the elves assisting them and smiled, “Pardon me, but you wouldn’t happen to have a garden somewhere in these halls, would you?”

The elf looked from Bilbo to the rambunctious company of dwarves, who began tearing at the furniture in their room. She met Bilbo’s gaze with wide eyes and nodded, “Follow me.”

As they walked through the halls, Bilbo asked the elvish woman many questions about herself. While dwarves were secretive and rarely indulge strangers personal information, she gave it freely. Her name was Meriel and she had lived in Rivendell all her life. “My father has served Lord Elrond and his family for many years.”

“Do you travel outside of Rivendell much?” Bilbo asked as they walked. His eyes often caught on curious pieces of art or certain statues, but it did not linger long. The prospect of stepping foot in an elvish garden was too alluring.

“No, I do not. I have traveled, but I have found I much more prefer these halls to the outside world.”

“You would fit well in the Shire,” Bilbo chuckled, “Hobbits are not ones to leave their homes behind for anything.

She looked at him with bright eyes and tilted her head in question, “Then why did you, Master Baggins?” Bilbo was saved from answering upon their arrival to the gardens. Meriel bowed to him and excused herself, but the hobbit hardly noticed.

Yavanna melted at the sight of it. Immediately he felt at ease in the grasses and flowers that the elves tended to. There were twisting vines that wound themselves around benches and statues. Tall, crooked trees curled against each other and brushed the elven archways. Flowers bloomed all around them, some he had never seen before in his life. And his magic sung. Here, among the elves, Bilbo felt that he could lose control. He let his magic spread without check. It twisted through everything in the garden. It found its way into every leaf and every petal. New flowers bloomed where there had been none. Vines that had wilted and died were replaced with new coils. The roots of the trees strengthened. He let out a deep sigh that the garden echoed. 

It was ages before he turned to address his absent escort. In her place stood Lord Elrond. The elf gestured for Bilbo to follow him and they fell in step together. “I hope you’ve found my home to your liking, Master Hobbit.” They must have been quite the sight, for Bilbo barely came up to the elf’s elbows.

“You’re home…” he trailed off, at a loss for words. It truly was like no place he had ever seen before. Rivendell was as magical as Yavanna had made it out to be all these years. 

Elrond smiled, “It’s not a sight many of your kind ever see.”

Bilbo heard the words for what they were. An innocuous comment, sure, but also a question. Not many Shirefolk would have reason to make their way through Rivendell. Of course, Gandalf and the rest of the company had a purpose for heading east that Elrond had no doubt discovered. Bilbo must be quite the puzzle to him.

“I should see many sights my kind has never seen before by this journey’s end, I think.”

The elven lord quirked a brow, “Is that all you stand to gain from this quest? Some exceptional sights?”

Bilbo sighed. It was a good question with a deceptively simple answer. He could answer ‘copious amounts of gold’ and be done with it. However, he had not agreed to join their quest due to the promise of gold, and he was sure Elrond would see through the lie. Deep within Bilbo’s soul, there was a want for something more than a life in Bag End had to offer.

“I think—” Bilbo paused and listened to the dwarves and their rambunctious songs. Their merriment echoed through the halls, filling every corner with life despite the late hour. He smiled, “I think I’ll find out when it’s all said and done what exactly I have gained.”

Together, the two of them walked. They wound their way through the gardens and ended up on a balcony overlooking the cliffside, decorated with hanging flowers and vines. The sun had long since dipped below the horizon. Torches had been lit to light the way, but the moon provided enough light to see by. Every inch of Rivendell seemed to glitter. Bilbo leaned against the railing of the balcony and sighed happily, his eyes taking in the beautiful sight. 

“I do not know how deep your connection with Yavanna runs, but take great care.” Bilbo whipped his head around to look at Elrond. His gaze was unwavering. Even as he spoke cryptically, his face gave nothing away, “The Valar often have plans of their own, far beyond the wants of the living.”

Instead of responding to such a directed statement, Yavanna remained pensively silent inside his head. He acknowledged Elrond’s words with a dazed nod. Seemingly satisfied, their elven host bowed his head in the hobbit’s direction before turning and retreating back into the halls. Only when he was gone did Bilbo allow himself to panic.


	8. Secrets Spilled and Shared

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bilbo thought it was rather fitting that his panic about Elrond be interrupted by Thorin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's still technically Tuesday here, so ha. This chapter is a right mess, but oh well. It's also relatively short. It also has barely been edited so it's got that going for it, too. Please leave a comment telling me about all my fucking typos and messiness, I'd really appreciate it.

“He knows, oh of course he does! What, did I think that I could just stroll through the realm of elves without care and get by with my little secret!” Bilbo paced back and forth on the terrace, his hands fluttering over his waistcoat as if adjusting his clothes would do him any good. 

Elrond had known. Bilbo had no idea how. He hadn’t even realized that the elf had noticed him before their brief conversation. Sure, they had chatted during dinner, but that had been about boring news of the Shire and growing carrots, of all things. Hardly a giveaway for ancient magic. He must have seen Bilbo use his abilities in the garden. Tears sprung to his eyes as Bilbo chastised himself for his own foolishness.

“ _Calm down, child_ ,” Yavanna pleaded with him. He wanted to scream back and ask how she was so calm when in the span of one day, not one but two magical beings had been alerted to her presence in his head. Bilbo could get by with Radagast knowing. The wizard’s only true allegiance seemed to lie with Yavanna and when she asked him to keep quiet, he had listened. Elrond, however, had no such ties. Bilbo knew that the elf served Middle Earth over anything else. If protecting the realm meant spilling secrets to every wizard he could get to listen to him, then so be it.

He buried his hand in his hair and cried out, “He’ll tell Gandalf, oh I know he will!”

“ _You will tell Gandalf yourself if you do not stop shouting_ ,” Yavanna hissed. She mimicked taking a deep breath and urged Bilbo to do the same. For a few moments, Bilbo stood still on the balcony, breathing hard. After he had calmed down a little, she sighed, “ _I will handle Elrond, child, but it means I must leave you._ ”

Bilbo winced. He did not like to be without Yavanna. The first time she left his head, he had been worried she would take his magic with her. Yavanna assured him that his magic was his alone. No power in middle earth could rip it from him. It did not mean that Bilbo enjoyed it when she was gone. His head felt empty without her like there was a part of his mind missing. But, if her leaving meant that word of Bilbo’s abilities didn’t spread across middle earth, then so be it. 

“ _It will not be for long, I promise_ ,” she whispered sweetly and without another word, she was gone. 

For the first time in many, many years, Bilbo was alone in his own head.

The first thing he did was wipe at the tears on his cheeks. Crying over the situation would do nothing to help it. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes. A gentle evening breeze brushed over him. The sound of rushing water drowned out the ringing in his own ears. He resisted the urge to beat himself up more for his carelessness. Of course, Elrond found him out, he was letting his magic spill all over their garden without a single thought as to who might be watching. Bilbo had never been so haphazard with his own abilities. 

Bilbo rubbed at his temple and muttered, “Oh, Mad Baggins, what has gotten into you?”

“Mad Baggins?”

He must have jumped a foot. Bilbo whirled around to see a very quizzical Thorin watching him. It would always startle Bilbo how kingly the dwarf always looked. Even when their company had been trekking east for weeks without the comforts of home, Thorin still managed to look as regal as ever. His braids were tight and well kept. His beard was clean and combed. 

For a brief moment, Bilbo wondered over his own appearance. He had trailed after the company so quickly the morning that they left, he barely had time to pack anything fit for travel. Most of the clothes he had brought were his everyday waistcoats and trousers and they were not fit for such harsh conditions. He longed for his good raincoat and thick, woolen clothes made for winter. Bilbo shook his head of such thoughts. 

The silence that stretched between him and Thorin had gone on so long that he had forgotten what he had said. Bilbo blinked and turned to the dwarf with an apologetic look, “I’m sorry?”

Thorin regarded him curiously, yet cautiously, as he always did, “You referred to yourself as ‘Mad Baggins’, halfling. What am I to make of that?”

“A nickname from my lovely cousin Lobelia,” Bilbo chuckled without any humor, “Though I suppose it’s gained some merit, after the state I left the Shire in. She was never fond of me and made many attempts to steal Bag End out from under my feet.”

The dwarf did not respond. He only looked more troubled than before. His forehead wrinkled and he scrunched his nose tight. Bilbo ignored the brief awkwardness that had settled between them and continued.

“I don’t think she likes how empty it lies under my care.” Nevermind that in the spring, he filled it with flowers and plants of all kind. Weather permitted, he would leave open windows and doors for birds and bunnies to settle into his home. His mother always said that a house is just a house. To make it a home, you must fill it with life. And after she and his father died, Bilbo sought to do so in the only way he could.

He was not so oblivious to the way his cousins spoke of him. Bilbo heard their whispers of his strangeness and how odd he had become. Lobelia specifically sighted his continued bachelorhood. She sat in his parlor and wondered, loudly, if his interests lay beyond hobbit lasses. He had shooed her out of his home and reminded her that his interests were none of her concern. And that was only gossip of his love life. He couldn’t even imagine what Lobelia would do if she were to learn of his gifts.

Bilbo did not miss that particular quirk of living among hobbits. They did not care much for people who did not fit in and he stuck out like a sore, green thumb. Even to his own family, he was a strange sort. Lobelia was the most brazen of them sure, but even Prim had looked at him like the queer fellow he was. Which made it even more puzzling to Bilbo that he had been so careless with his abilities in Rivendell. It seemed he was set on alienating himself from every culture on this journey.

He longed for the days where it was just him, his mother, and his father curled up in Bag End. Bilbo could weave magical flowers into his mother’s hair and make her smile. He could work in the gardens with his father and pluck fat, juicy tomatoes. But they were gone, as were those days, and Bilbo was left alone. 

Maybe that was why Bilbo had gone with the dwarves. Deep down, he knew that without his parents, there was no reason to stay in the Shire. Even if he had found a beautiful hobbit lass and buckled down to have children, how would they react to Yavanna? How would his new family react to a Valar, long thought gone from this world, lurking in his head? They would call him mad. They already did. 

“Halfling?” 

Bilbo shook himself of his thoughts. Again, his mind had wandered. Thorin was looking at him with a familiar look of caution, but there was a hint of concern in his eyes. The hobbit smiled, though it was rather tight, and tutted, “My apologies. I was a little lost in thought.” 

Thorin said nothing more. His expression faded to a blank look. Bilbo wondered after Thorin’s home. He wondered how the dwarf fit in with his companions, his people. He would hazard to guess that being a king meant that the treatment he received was quite different than how Bilbo had been regarded as growing up. 

Yet, he remembered what Thorin had said when they first spoke of the quest in Bag End. He had told his fellow dwarves that their kin would not come. It made Bilbo curious, not only of Thorin but of their quest and what exactly they would gain upon its completion. If Thorin was their king, and Erebor was their kingdom, why had the dwarves not rallied behind him?

“Tell me about Erebor?” Bilbo questioned after some time had passed. He figured it would serve as a nice distraction from his own self-pity and worry. His previous attempts to learn about the kingdom were fruitless. Fíli and Kíli did not know of the mountain, nor did Ori. There were several among their company who had never even seen Erebor. The most knowledgable of them all seemed to be Balin, Dwalin, and Thorin.

The latter of whom gave him a weary look, which made Bilbo roll his eyes. He would never understand dwarven secrecy. “I’m going to see it anyway, might as well tell me about the mountain I’m helping you save.”

Still, the dwarf eyed him with suspicion. Bilbo leveled him with a flat glare and after a few moments, Thorin relented, “My sister is a better fit for regaling the wonders of Erebor. Despite only being a child when it fell, she seems to remember it's amenities best.”

“Fíli and Kíli’s mother?” 

“Aye, she would sit in taverns and spin tales of the plentiful lines of gold and huge, towering forges to any passerby she could sink her teeth into,” Thorin replied with a light chuckle. His face then grew somber, “I thought she was going to skin me when I asked her to stay in Ered Luin.”

Bilbo chuckled, “After allowing her sons to come with you? I can’t say I blame her.” He desperately tried to salvage the light, airy mood he had suddenly found with the dwarf. 

Thorin glared at him, but the gaze held no heat. When he refused to be swayed by such a look, the dwarf relented and let a small grin swell. He looked at Bilbo with sharp eyes, “I think she would find your company most curious, halfling.”

“Is that so?”

Thorin hummed in agreement, but he didn’t say anything more. The two fell into a companionable silence. Bilbo looked up to the stars. Even with the bright light of the moon, he could still trace a few familiar constellations. Their light reflected off the falling water gushing from the river. 

Without even thinking, he spoke, “I’ve never seen a place so beautiful.” 

He immediately bit his tongue and looked over at Thorin. The dwarf did not look offended or even angry at the comment. Instead, there was a distant, wistful look in his eyes. He turned to Bilbo and gave him a small smile, “Just you wait, Master Baggins. I will show you Erebor and you will see that no elven realm could ever compare.”


	9. Mountains and Misgivings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bilbo's secrets were in danger in Rivendell, for sure, but the Misty Mountains provided dangers of a more physical nature.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not dead! It's been a hot minute, I know, but I'm back *hopefully*. I don't know whether updates will be regular or not quite yet, but I'll try to keep y'all updated. Also a general disclaimer: this story does not really have an established "in-universe" timeline, nor does it really make any sense geologically. If you care about that stuff, I'm sorry. If you don't, ha same!
> 
> Anyways, thanks for reading and I hope you enjoy the chapter.

The sun rose and fell during their fortnight in Rivendell and Bilbo’s head stayed empty. For two weeks, he wandered around with a quiet mind, too worried over the safety of his secrets to do much more than observe. For two weeks, he watched his dwarven companions grow more and more restless with each passing moment. It turned what should have been a well-deserved, relaxing reprieve, tucked away in the elven realm into a tense, unbearable time of waiting for something to happen.

And still, he was dragging his feet, just a little. Bilbo understood that they had to leave Rivendell. Gandalf had made it very clear that their quest was not approved and that the elves would try and stop them. Still, he wanted to revel in the comforts provided for just a while longer, armed with the knowledge that it was better than what awaited them on their continuing journey. Bilbo would always be hesitant to face those dangers, especially given Yavanna’s continued absence. However, there was no time to waste. Gandalf told the company that he was meeting with the white council at dawn. It would be the perfect time for them all to slip out of Rivendell relatively unnoticed.

Dawn arrived and slip away they did. For a pack of noisy, bumbling dwarves, the company could be quiet when they needed to be. They made their way out of Rivendell without being stopped by a single elf. Some of them had given the company strange looks, but they were no doubt used to the strangeness from dwarves. Bilbo waved at the few elves he recognized, trying his hardest to make it appear as though nothing was amiss.

When they were finally beyond the reaches of the elven realm and heading towards the misty mountains, the company all heaved a great sigh of relief. Everyone dropped their packs into the dirt for a short rest. Nori immediately began showing off the various trinkets he had lifted from the elves. Glóin and Óin cursed the hospitality of elves and vowed never to stay in their company again. Normally, Bilbo would agree with no such sentiments, but he was feeling much more at ease now that he was no longer at risk of exposing more secrets to Lord Elrond. Logically, he knew Yavanna would handle it and that everything would turn out for the best, but the fear of exposing himself was a permanent fixture in the back of Bilbo's mind. Elrond already knew something was awry. It was only a matter of time before he let something more egregious slip.

"Alright," Bilbo picked up his walking stick after brushing off his trousers. He looked to his companions, "What's next, then?"

Bofur smiled, "That'll be the Misty Mountains."

The Misty Mountains. He had never seen them in person, but there were many fantastical tales passed from weary travelers to Took cousins in Bree, which were then passed on to Bilbo at family gatherings. It was a harsh and treacherous mountain range, filled with winding paths that lead nowhere and deadly drops. There were even rumors of giants.

Balin looked towards the east and frowned, "With no ponies, it'll take a few days time before we get there."

"Then we better get started." Thorin lifted his pack onto his shoulders and began the trek towards the distant mountains.

They were long days filled mostly with walking and idle chatter about nothing. If Bofur could muster up the mood for it, he would cajole his cousins into joining him for a tune, but the weather didn't call for high spirits. The closer they got to the Misty Mountains, the worse the weather grew. The sky was overcast, draping a dreary curtain over the land. It set the tone for their journey. By the time they arrived at the foot of the mountains, not one member of the company was feeling optimistic.

As they ventured into the Misty Mountains, Bilbo fretted. It had been a few days since they left Rivendell and Gandalf had not caught up with them, nor had Yavanna returned. Bilbo hadn't been particularly surprised when the company continued on their journey without waiting for the wizard, as they were instructed to do by Gandalf himself. It was to be expected that Thorin would ignore him at almost every turn. Knowing Gandalf, he would show up at a time most convenient for him and look as ornery as ever over being ignored.

Bilbo was more troubled over Yavanna. It was almost three weeks of her continued absence. He'd never gone so long without her voice in his head. When he was young, they would spend many evenings talking about the future. Bilbo would lay in the lush grass and wildflowers of the Shire and ask Yavanna as many questions as he could think of. There were some that she could answer and many that were truths that 'mankind, nor any creature on Middle Earth, were prepared to know'. Bilbo asked her several times if she would ever leave him and her answer was the same every time. She tied herself to Bilbo while he was still in his mother's womb. So long as he wanted her with him, she would remain.

Regardless of his worry, he did not have much time to dwell on Yavanna. The mountain pass was thin and steep. It demanded focus and a brutal pace, one that every member of their company struggled with. Not five minutes into their trek upwards, the skies finally opened up and it began to pour.

Bilbo was having a miserable time, soaked to the bone and shivering. He could hardly see where the path dropped off to a sheer cliff face. Why couldn't the whole world be as flat and amicable as the Shire?

"GIANTS! STONE GIANTS!"

Glóin yanked Bilbo back so he was flush with the mountain. From the valley, two giant creatures, the likes of which he had never seen, rose to their full statutes. They were as tall as the mountains that surrounded them. While they took the vague shapes of men, neither had any discernible features. It was as if someone had stacked various large boulders on top of one another in the shape of a person, then gave it life.

One of the giants lunged for the other and a violent, earth-shaking brawl broke out between the two of them.

"Come on, Master Boggins!" Kíli appeared out of nowhere and grabbed Bilbo by the hand. He pulled him further up the path. Ahead of them, Fíli, Dwalin, and Thorin were leading the company, bracing themselves against the elements. The rain seemed to pelt them from all sides and barely anything could be heard above the cacophonous noise of the battle. Visibility dropped to almost zero and their pace was as slow as a snail’s. They often had to stop to avoid being crushed by stray rocks and boulders. 

A giant landed a particularly hard punch. Bilbo watched with waterlogged eyes as the other came stumbling back towards them. He landed just below their path with a great boom. The stone beneath their feet began to crack and crumble.

Kíli's foot slipped and Bilbo reacted without thinking. A root shot up from deep within the earth and wrapped around his ankle. The dwarf let out a short cry of pain but remained upright. Dwalin immediately swooped in and grabbed onto the lad’s hood, snatching him away from the edge. He heard Fíli chastise his brother’s clumsiness, but it was far overshadowed by the obvious relief in his voice. Fíli wrapped an arm around his brother's limping form as they continued on their treacherous path.

Bilbo's own relief was short-lived. The rock underneath his feet had crumbled just as it had under Kíli's. He could only let out a short yelp before he fell. 

He tumbled down a few feet before catching his hands on a small jut of rock. Very carefully, he attempted to haul himself up, but the stone was too slippery. All he could do was cling to the cliffside and look up to his companions, helplessly.

Above him, the company was scrambling.

"Hold on, Laddie!" Glóin called down as if Bilbo had been considering letting go.

He watched as Dwalin carefully began climbing down the side of the mountain to him. Before he could get very far, Thorin swopped down, rather recklessly, and hauled Bilbo into Dwalin's arms by the back of his jacket. In an instant, Bilbo was back on his feet. He watched a safe distance from the edge as the company pulled Thorin back up onto the path.

The hobbit braced himself for whatever verbal lashing he was about to receive, but nothing came. Thorin did not give him a second glance before taking his place at the front of the group once more. He hadn't even looked particularly angry. His face was carefully blank as he continued to march down the path, bracing against the rain. The rest of the company shared their share of confused looks but had no choice but to follow.

Bilbo couldn't take his eyes off Thorin. He had expected him to shout, or just curse the general population of hobbits. Some sort of tantrum and declaration that he was unfit to continue on their journey. He had not expected silence. Still, the company had moved on from it, so he did as well.

It was not long after Bilbo’s near tumble that they found a cave to set up camp for the night. The thunder battle between stone giants had stopped, but the rain continued to come down in droves. Balin and Dwalin forbade anyone from lighting fires. They didn’t quite know what lurked in the mountains, as goblins were rumored to live beneath the earth. No use in attracting unwanted attention. With a great sigh, everyone set out to splaying their wet clothing across the rock in hopes it would dry by morning.

Bilbo had not even started unpacking his things when Thorin approached him.

“You’re going home, halfling.” In his hands was an oilskin, one of the few the company had between them. His gaze was as steely as ever, with just a touch of something more, something Bilbo didn’t quite know what to make of, “Dwalin will take you down the mountain and you can find your own way back to Rivendell.”

Behind him, Dwalin scoffed and shook his head, but began preparing his things for the trek back down the mountain. Bilbo refused to pick his pack back up, “Excuse me?”

Thorin gave him an unamused look, “You’re leaving.”

“And why, precisely, is that?” Bilbo put his hands on his hips. If this was all over his little slip from earlier, he was going to be furious. It could have been any member of the company. It almost was Kíli, but Bilbo saved him, not that Thorin knew anything about that. 

"You cannot fight, nor are you a real burglar," Thorin turned his gaze away. 

Bilbo wanted to laugh, “You knew that when you hired me.” He’d be surprised if anyone in the company still thought he was a burglar, “I’m staying, Thorin.”

He sighed and ran a hand over his face. He suddenly looked much older, the bags under his eyes more prominent as he gave him a tired stare, "The only thing that will come from you continuing forward is your own death. Go home."

Bilbo huffed. Whatever misplaced guilt that the dwarf was feeling was just a little too late. He was already far from home. He had already encountered trolls and orcs. He'd already nearly tumbled off a mountain. Bilbo had thrown himself into the thick of it with these dumb dwarves and in turn, they have wormed their way into his heart. 

Sure, he could return home, but the journey back would be dull without Fíli and Kíli's incessant bickering. It would be quiet without Bofur's songs or Balin's fanciful storytelling. He would miss Nori's jokes and Dori's scolding, the scratches of Ori's pencil and Dwalin's gruff grumbles. 

There was so much more Bilbo had yet to learn about them all and he was curious. He wanted to be a part of this fantastic, terrifying chapter of their stories and he wanted them to be a part of his. And in truth, Bilbo did not want to go home to an empty Bag End. The absence of dwarvish merriment would only make it more lifeless than it was before. 

He tried to steel himself from the sadness settling in his heart. If Thorin thought Bilbo would sit idle while he tried his damndest to push him out of this journey, he had another thing coming.

Bilbo crossed his arms and frowned, “What happened to showing me the beauty of Erebor?”

Thorin’s demeanor changed immediately. His shoulders tensed up and he sneered, “A foolish sentiment shared in a moment of weakness.” He shook his head, “Do not mistake it to mean anything more, halfling.”

The tension between them thickened so much he felt like he was choking. Something rotten coiled in Bilbo's gut. Something twisted and sad and angry. His expression went bitter, "My apologies, oh great Thorin Oakenshield, mountainless King Under the Mountain, for fostering such weaknesses as 'getting to know your traveling companions'," he dipped into a deep bow, "I assure you, it will never happen again." Without waiting for a reply, or to see if he had even been acknowledged, Bilbo hoisted his pack onto his shoulders and marched out the entrance of the cave.


End file.
